To my dear Jim M. Bishop,
I never thought I’d write one of these but I guess here we are. Jim, I just can’t do this anymore. I think we’re going to have to call off our relationship. I can’t seem to exercise the same strength in the relationship that I used to. Surely, you can’t be surprised with this decision I’ve made either, given recent events.
Our relationship was really terrific when I first met you. It was my freshman year of college, and we got to know each other through a mutual friend. Things were a little shaky at first (mostly my arms) but as time wore on, we got better. We spent a lot of quality time together those first 6 months. I mean, it was so convenient between the two of us. You lived right there on my college campus and you were always open to me (but you were also open to everybody else).
Man, we went through a lot together and we had some killer times. Things were really hot (and increasingly more heavy) between us at first, but unfortunately, we’ve had an on-again-off-again relationship. I know this is mostly my fault, as you were always there simply waiting for me, but it’s partially your fault too.
For years, I fell into the trap that if I just hung in long enough I’d be happy. You’d dangle that carrot in front of me and have me running (also jogging and biking) toward it for weeks. When I got too tired of playing your games, I’d give up and pursue something else, for a short time. But then, you’d be there again, whispering those thoughts into my head and I’d come crawling back to you all over again with the delusions of being skinny. But Jim, we’re just not working out anymore.
The worst part is that you made me pay money to come see you. I willingly handed over portions of my paycheck, just for us to spend quality time together. Am I not good enough to be with regardless of financial factors?
And can we talk about your friends? Listen, I know mine aren’t perfect, but I rarely bring them around to see you. Why must you always hang out with those sweaty muscle-heads? They stare at me all the time and make me feel so uncomfortable, like I’m a piece of meat.
And this brings me to my next point, my dear Jim: I’ve met somebody else. His name is yoga and I really think he’s the one. While me and you were in a codependent-whirlwind relationship of tension and endorphin-highs, yoga has mellowed me out in ways I didn’t know were possible. Yoga respects me and tells me I’m a child of the universe. All you ever did was mock me and say, “95 calories: is that really the best you can do?”
And while I must admit, yoga has not given me the heart-pounding, sweaty 45-minute sessions you used to, he has given my the mental stimulation you never could. I will miss some things about you old friend, and I’m sure we’ll continue to have our occasional flirtation, but I can’t go on like this.
I’m sorry, Jim, but I have nothing left to say to you. I’ve accepted you for who you are, and now I must decide whether or not I want you in my life. I choose to grow elsewhere on my path, and I must bid you farewell.
So in conclusion:
[Featured Image Credit: greg westfall via Flickr]