I know that when we first met I was young and pretty impressionable -- looking back I was so naive -- but I fell in love with you. You knew it. I knew it, and I also knew you probably didn't feel the same way. But to be honest, I didn't really care. I just loved you. You weren't really around that much, and sure, I knew rain and sleet and hail a lot better, and got pretty intimate with all of them (I'm sorry), but you were the only one I loved.
You would show up every now and again, get me excited, and then you would disappear, without so much as a note to say when you would be back. But that just made me love you more. You were so exciting, and sometimes a little bit dangerous. I liked that. Even as I did a little growing up and went off around the world myself, you always occupied a special place in my heart, and I still looked forward to the next time you would swing by, more or less unannounced, so we could spend some time getting slushy together.
When I moved to the U.S., I looked forward to spending more time with you. I thought it would be nice if we could get to know each other a bit better, instead of just one night you were there, and then in the morning you were gone, as mostly happened in Ireland. I was looking forward to walks with the dog and you, hanging out in the park at the weekend, maybe playing with your balls if we were feeling naughty or playing angels if we weren't. It all sounded blissful. I couldn't wait.
But in truth, snow, we have both changed. I am maybe a bit less idealistic and playful than I used to be, but since we have both been in New York I barely recognise you. Spending so much time together has been a lot less fun than I thought. You have been around a lot. Like, a lot. You showed up before Christmas and you haven't gone away. To be perfectly honest, I am getting a bit tired of seeing you every day. More than that, you are a lot less fun than you used to be. Since moving to NYC you have got really messy. You've also got really filthy. That's not my thing. And I just find you cold and boring. You were already starting to annoy me, but then tonight happened.
You had already forced me to change my plans on a few occasions, selfishly, to suit you. It happens, I said. Snow's like that, I said. No point in getting annoyed about it. It's part of the fun and excitement. And then tonight, even though it was literally just around the corner, 1 block away, you decided that you were going to dick about so much that the show I have been waiting to see got cancelled. That was the last straw. Let me tell you hunty, I want you out of here. Gone. Get the feck out of my life. I am sick of you. What we had is gone, and now you are just one giant pain in my A-hole, so you have until Sunday to get your shit together and GET OUT OF HERE. Take a cruise down the Hudson or across the Atlantic or something. Travel. See the world, whatever. I don't care. Just get the fuck out of my life before I kick the shit out of you before pushing you down a drain.
I mean it.