Dear July, You started off in much the same way as you always do, cold and terribly depressing. It didn’t surprise me, it never does. I shed some tears already this month, but who gives a shit right? Who cares that my daughter would be three, talking, walking, growing, breathing, living. Who cares that she isn’t? No-one cares. It’s just between the two of us dear dear July, this battle. This battle, I lose everytime.