An Open Letter To The Year That Was

2010 December 31

Dear 2010,

I’ve had your bags packed and waiting by the door for weeks now, but you haven’t been taking the hint.  I don’t think I can make the fact that you’ve overstayed your welcome any clearer.

Photo by hellojenuine

To put it inelegantly, you’ve kicked the crap out of me on just about every front imaginable (no need to revisit the details, I’m sure your memory is a match for mine).  And the insomnia meant I saw a lot more of you than I wanted to. It’s not as if I haven’t had rough years before (that terrible perm pretty much ruined sixth grade), but I had high hopes for you, ya know? You made promises and I take those very seriously. If you give me your word, you might as well sign a blood oath, because I consider it just as binding. Which is why it always hurts so much when people don’t stick to their end of the bargain. And 2010, you bailed — early and often. I suppose it was my fault for continuing to give you second chances long after you proved that you weren’t to be trusted, but really, in lieu of time travel, what the heck was I supposed to do?

In the interests of graciousness, I suppose I should make a passing mention of our good times, but dude, we really didn’t have many, did we? Okay, reporting on the G8/G20 was a once-in-a-career opportunity, but riot police and anarchists aren’t exactly a barrel of monkeys. Being syndicated on Jezebel was pretty neat. The Chicago Diner’s vegan milkshakes were rad, too. And of course, any time I got to spend with my niece. But yeah, it’s a pretty short highlight reel.

But the truth is that you don’t deserve graciousness. You ruined almost everything you touched and in classic bad romance fashion, you’ve made me question my own judgment. I was wrong about you, what if I’m wrong about 2011, too? Actually, don’t get me started on 2011. I’m not ready to move on yet. I’m not ready to let another year in and risk the same turmoil. And I’m blaming you for that.

And don’t even think I’m ending with any of that I Will Survive BS where I give you backhanded credit for making me a stronger, more resilient person.  No,  now I’m a jerk who slacks on email and wears too much eyeliner and has a laugh that sounds like machine gun fire. But at least I still have cute hair, right?

It’s over. And despite what the calendar says, it’s been over for a long time. Don’t pretend otherwise. And GTFO already.

The End,


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