I hate hot weather. I hate the sun. I hate these things with an unhealthy passion. I am the type of person that is angry at God when I walk outside and there's not a cloud in the sky. I hate daylight savings time. It's 8:00 PM and it's still light outside. This is unnatural. Mankind was not meant to live like this. It will be a new day in four hours; why do I still have perfect visual clarity? My idea of heaven is a place that is cold and dark, where life struggles to flourish.
I hate the rain during the warm months, for that brings out the lizards and frogs and snakes and all other scaly things that bite and sting and move in unpredictable patterns with unnerving speed. They try to get into your house by any means possible and spring upon you when you least expect it. I hate mosquitoes, the disease-carrying filth that they are, and I hate yard work more than I hate the idea that one day I will die and there's nothing I can do about it.
March is the harbinger of all these things, so I hate March. Only two good things happen in March: my brother's birthday and my anniversary. I don't even like St. Patrick's Day, seeing that I'm a Sensible Adult and my friends don't want to hang out with me anymore, it would seem, so partying for St. Patrick's Day isn't an option. That, and when you work for public education, showing up for work with a hangover is a bit frowned upon.
So, yes, for the overwhelming majority, March can go straight into the darkest corner of Hell, that place that even the Devil fears to tread, and rot until the end of all things.