The beautiful days of spring began Sunday with wonderful warm weather and bright blue skies. Everyone is all zippy and fuzzy, except me.

The wonders of spring mean one thing to me. I will be locked in battle with a malevolent green beast for the next eight months.

I look out my front window at home and see my lawn glaring at me, each and every blade of grass, waiting to grow with evil intent no matter what I do to kill the wicked monster.

I hate mowing my lawn. I always think I should feel all civic and happy about it, but all I can think of is I should be eating or sleeping or eating.

The worst aspect of my lawn is it has a mind of its own, and its smarter than me. I think the blades have collectively come together as a personality designed to torture me.

My lawn stays green and grows day after day. I do my best to kill it. From prayers to unholy incantations – nothing works.

I have neighbors who carefully follow the spraying and spreading ritual of very expensive stuff to keep their lawns forest green. Their lawns turn brown in no time and stop growing, boom.

My stinking green carpet keeps blasting up in the middle of a drought.

I wouldn’t give my rotten grass a thimble of water if I was paid a million bucks. Believe me it has nothing to do with being ecologically sensitive. I want my green beast to die.

My lawn springs up toward the sky while my neighbors’ lawns die after three days of sunny skies and no rain. They have long patches of brown with a few sprigs of green. I have a psychotic pile of green meanness getting taller by the minute, waiting to clog my miserable mower and leave my life in shambles of sweat.

Every year I come up with a plan to murder my lawn, and every year it somehow dodges me, despite my best efforts, but not this year. My lawn has beaten me for the last time.

This year I have discovered the ultimate weapon, my perfect plan.

The first step was I mowed it Sunday, just to lull it into complacency, but little does my green friend know what I have in mind.

My lawn will be dead brown before the dog days begin, because this year I will take care of it. I’m going to buy a whole truck load of lawn stuff. I will drive to the store and buy one of everything, maybe two. Then I will spray and spread just like my neighbors.

My lawn will be shocked into submission. The green demon will fall down dead by mid May. The beauty of my plot is this year I can hardly wait for June. The happy warm month when my lawn nearly kills me every year.

This year I get to win. This year I get to sit around and watch my lawn die, and wonder what possibly could have happened, since I sprayed all the right junk on it.

It works for my neighbors every year. It has to work for me.

I love reverse psychology.