Spring is violent. Possibly everywhere, but spring is especially violent here in Tejas.
When I first moved here, I had to adjust to the rabid pollen that attacked me at every breath. The first few years, my poor nose would stuff up just after Valentine’s Day, and wouldn’t relent until after Easter. That level of sinus congestion was violent. My mood was violent after so many sleep deprived nights. Hell, even the raw, red, drippy end of my nose looked violent.
Spring weather is obviously violent here. Every time I think I’ve acclimated a little, I’m reminded just how much of a non-native I really am. One storm system, I’ll be all nonchalant and muster nothing more than a half-hearted hope that I make it home from my errands after work before it gets too bad; the next tornado watch with a tor:con north of 3 means I have to take a personal day and sometimes I even have to take the girls out of school for a made-up doctor’s appointment, because who takes the kids out of school early because of the weather radar?! So after I’m all, okay maybe I can handle this, and being the kind of person who walks out into the back yard to get a better look because it’s not too close yet, then I get a close call like last week and I’m terrified again of how very violent spring is here. Yeah, I’ll be hiding in the closet for awhile.
Then there are the birds, attacking me from left and right. I always loved bluebirds. I mean, maybe not as much as Disney loved them, but I had a real strong affinity. Maybe you remember the story about the bluebirds who set up their cute little nest last year in a corner of the overhang that covers the front stoop? I was all BABY BIRDS!, until I realized that baby birds meant mama birds. Mama birds who like to protect their babies – violently, if need be. Mama birds who will ZOOM! at your head with their razor-sharp beaks and clawing talons. Mama birds who make you slam the door shut before they eat your face off. Violently. So: guess who I opened my front door to find on Saturday?
And lastly (please, God, let it be “lastly”), there are my favorite feral pets, The Ants. My feral ants, also called sugar ants, that can’t be smooshed because they’ll send a distress signal to the hive, causing it to split and multiply. Ants, teeny, tiny, microscopic ants that will make you paranoid about everything, always. Ants that I woke up to find on Sunday morning, crawling out of an electrical outlet and into my sugar jar. I had some of the nuclear poison needed to eradicate my “pets”, which I used to quarantine the outlet they’d made their homebase, but the directions said to let the ants traipse the poison back to their home, in order to kill every last one. I don’t know if I can wait that long. I just need them gone. Now.
So, yes, from all of the violent goings on, I figure it must be spring time in Tejas. Huzzah.