A Note On The Pillow To 2011

2011,

By the time you read this, I'll be gone. I know it must be a shock to wake up alone with just this letter lying beside you, but it had to be like this. I've seen out other years with one last hurrah. Dancing, champagne toasts, sparkly hats, and whatnot. But to be honest, our relationship was so dysfunctional I'm afraid of what you might have done once you realized I was taking 2012 home with me.

That's right, I'm with 2012 now. I get that this may make you feel abandoned and that you're probably wondering how I could make such a big commitment so quickly, but to be honest, you made it pretty easy. Sure, there were high points. You were with me when my best friends married one another in a beautiful wedding by the lake. You celebrated on my couch right beside me during Baylor's first superlative football season in years. And for a few delirious weeks in August I thought I might want to be with you forever in spite of the other things that came between us before. But there were other things...

If you're honest with yourself, you know what I'm talking about, but here are a few of the low points in case you're feeling wrongly done by.

• I never should have leapt into your arms so aggressively. You wound up being a lot like 2010 and I should have recognized that immediately. By March we were already fighting and I essentially wasted three months on you because I forgot the lessons I had learned from 2010. 
• You killed my grandfather. He's the best man I've ever known and I realize it was his time, but that's not something you just get over. 
• You were terrible with finances. Seriously, I almost had to forgo my friends' wedding because of that. Money literally fell out of your pockets and it took a healthy dose of pride swallowing and some DEFCON 5 type action on my part to try to make it better.
• The icing on the cake was that one awful, irresponsible decision you made in September that helped sink our Indian Summer together and has made this fall a living hell. I can't even begin to quantify the costs of that quagmire. I'm not sure I'll ever forgive you for that. Heartbreaking. 

You may never see things my way, but I'm OK with that. I'll turn 32 with 2012 and I can't handle the sort of roller coaster relationship you were addicted to. I have to do this for me and there's no going back. Don't call. Don't write. Don't ask our friends about me. The best thing I can say about you is that you taught me some excruciating, stone-cold, starkly unforgettable lessons.

You were a stop sign...a massive, blinking, fire-engine red stop sign. I'll be by to get my things at some point, but I'm bringing 2012 with me. Don't make a scene.

- Doug