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Tropical Depression: Dear January
Dear January,
I'm breaking up with you.
I've had enough of your crap. Enough of your working late, working weekends, packing, moving, floods, meetings, stalkers, broken phones, and "responsibility challenged" youths. Sunday was your last chance to deliver a decent partial week and you couldn't even do that. How hard is it to get three days right?
You make me sick. No, you really did. I haven't had a cold for YEARS. So now I am faced with the indignity of carrying around a bottle of Dayquil and box of motherfucking tissues wherever I go. You know, I would've been happy with a "good hair day" but you couldn't even manage that.
Yes, the occasional sushi nights and hikes were fun but the drain on the checking account pretty much took all the fun out of that. So, whatever. I'm breaking up with you and giving your neighbor a chance. Even though he's historically a cold bastard, I figure it couldn't get much worse. He's the god of purification, after all.
Get lost,
Eve
