It’s March 1 and that always gets me so frustrated each year. March has always left me with mixed emotions because of its in-like-a-lion-out-like-a-lamb reputation and its annoying tendency to begrudge us the nice weather we all so eagerly anticipate. It’s like being in the vestibule of a most enchanting environment, after having been subjected to a long arduous nightmare and finding out that the price of admission is a lot of last-minute repetition of the same nightmare. T.S. Eliot opens his “The Waste Land” with the claim that “April is the cruelest month”. Please don’t let this esteemed Missouri bard fool you though. March is enough to make anyone cringe with a thwarted restless anticipation of the most desperately needed springtime. Maybe it’s because I’ve always been such a compulsive bookworm, and I majored in literature in college, but I’ve always seen March as a metaphor for the nasty frustration that goes with life’s changes. Never a fan of that o-so-demonic concept known as change, I just can’t wait to get the hard parts over with. I should suppose that I shall simply have to accept the fact that March is a harbinger of all the good that’s yet to come and that for that very reason it should be most welcome. It brings with it all sorts of good things ranging from Lent and Easter to St. Patrick’s Day and springtime. That, however, most certainly doesn’t make it any less annoying or frustrating.