It’s probably pretty obvious what I’m going to say, writing to you today, but I need to say it, and you need to hear it.
I’m leaving you.
It would be fair to say that I was always going to leave you, but that’s not true, is it? There was a while there where you were acting like somewhere I’d be willing to make my home permanently, and I accepted that from you. Ours was an arranged marriage from the start – I left Chicago to come here not because I wanted you, but because I was broke and in debt and needed the job only you were willing to offer me – but it could have grown into a love match. We could have been partners and allies and lovers into my gray years. I’m hugely allergic to you, and you’re just about the only place I seem to have allergies, but I was willing to overlook that to have what you were offering.
You know what I’m talking about. You did it on purpose, a lure designed to soften me to your charms and offerings. You got me invested. You got me interested and involved. You made promises. And then you were too ham-fisted, fumblingly incompetent to deliver on them. You were weak. Your were pathetic. You were embarrassing. That is a seven point spread I will hold against you forever.
Make no mistake – I am angry with you. I have been angry with you for two years. I am going to be angry with you for a long, long time. I worked hard for you and you betrayed me. You have some serious, deep, self-loathing issues and I am beyond caring about what that does to you because first, I’ve got to deal with the fallout of what it did to me. I am finished with you. I’m out of here.
Two years is a long time to wait. You could call me petty, or unforgiving for holding onto it this long without doing something before. That’d be fair. I shouldn’t have trusted you, shouldn’t have stopped clearing my exits just because it looked like we might have a permanent thing going. I shouldn’t have gotten so invested that even now, two years later, I can barely have a civil conversation about what went on between us. That’s on me. I’ll accept that. But the right solution is the same.
I don’t care what you do in your next election. Go hang yourself. I’ll be making my way out to Seattle. Washington has its own set of problems and issues, but we’ll be starting on better terms, and at the very least I won’t be compromising on my basic infrastructure preferences and my ability to breathe for three quarters of the year.
I’d wish you the best going forward, but I really don’t care as long as you’re not my problem any more.