Back when I was young growing up in the Northern California
Sierra Nevadas, you and I had a great time. I enjoyed the snow and I loved the
times when you were able to get me out of school. The only thing I really
didn’t like about our relationship was that I had to clean up all your messes.
I didn’t seem to mind, though, because we were having so much fun.
As I grew older, I saw that my other friends had more fun
with you than I. Our relationship had matured, and I knew that I had to go
someplace farther away from you. I didn’t want to leave you completely, so I
ventured to a place where we could see each other a few times a year and still
say hello and remember the old days. When I moved to Atlanta, I thought we had
an understanding that you could come into my life once a year and we could get
into a little bit of trouble together. Not the week-long frolics we used to
have when I was a kid, but still enough disruption to cause some good fun. And
every once in a while you were able to get me out of school.
Still, the Ice Storm of 1993 was enough for me to realize
that you were not the friend I had hoped, and I knew that at some point in time
I’d have to move farther away from you. I never wanted to leave you completely,
and I don’t believe you’d ever let me go completely, but I knew that we just
weren’t good for each other anymore.
When I moved to the Gulf Coast and eventually New Orleans, I
felt that we had finally achieved the kind of relationship that would be
healthy for both of us. Sure, you’d come and visit every once in a while, but
you weren’t hanging around as much and you weren’t making as big of a mess. Our
relationship felt good and I was happy.
It was your damn cousin Summer and her damn hurricanes that
really messed me up. But I know you had nothing to do with that.
So, we found ourselves in Central Texas in 2006 and for the
most part you and I have continued on with our friendly, healthy relationship.
Sure, you surprised the hell out of me with an unexpected blast in April 2007 with
that Easter snow storm. But I felt like a kid again—it was fun and I forgot
about how bad of a mess you leave behind. Well, I didn’t forget—I actually had
kids who could clean up after your mess now.
I got to say, though, that you must be pissed off at me or
something. Or you miss me so much that you want to come and visit more often
this year. Perhaps you’ve become a bit senile and forgot the distance we had
over the past few years and the reasons why I needed this distance. I’m not
sure what the reason is, but I’m not happy with you coming around as often as
you are doing right now. It’s not fun, and it’s just not right.
So, I’m writing this letter to let you know that I am
through with you. Our relationship is over. I’m tired of moving, and I feel that
you’re the one who has over-stepped her bounds. I think you need to remember
your place in the weather patterns of Central Texas. You’re not denied
opportunities to visit here—you’re just not supposed to come here every week. It’s just not right, and I am truly fed
up with your visits.
Please, don’t come around here anymore!
Maybe I’ll feel different next year, or the years after. But
right now, I’ve had enough of you and I just want you to go away.
I’ll remember all the fun we had in the past, but for right
now you are a very bad memory. I must demand that you go away.