An Open Letter to the Year 2011, from Sondra Stinglash

Dear 2011,

I am concerned about you.  How are you faring with all of this?  All of the over-eager, nary-a-glance-backward goodbyes.  The casting away of a perfectly good year, with all the requisite seasons and months.  Four of the former and twelve of the latter- you delivered what was promised.  You made that trip around the sun in just the right number of days.  365 of them.  Or was there an extra one for the leap thing?  I don’t remember, but you did well.  You delivered all the days you were supposed to.  You were solid and dependable that way.  But now you are quite literally yesterday’s news.  So 2011.  

Don’t let the door hit you in the rear as you leave.

We shed the old like a pair of worn sneakers, and welcome in the swaddling year with open, eager arms.  

You are our favorite year now, 2012.  Our darling.

I feel badly for you.  It must be tiring to hear about our plans for the new year; we are going to lose weight, start exercising, eat right.  2012 is the year we get that job, meet the love of our lives, travel the world, read War and Peace, go back to school, solve that theorem, write that memoir, change that lightbulb...  You remember when we felt that way about you?  We had such high hopes.  

I hear you sneering, “That’s all anyone wants to talk about.  New Year.  New YearNew Year.”  That snarky voice really doesn’t suit you, 2011.  But I understand.  It must be hard to be

So. Completely. Over.  

I just wanted to check in- see how you are doing, you know, offer my thanks.  You did all right, 2011; you gave us all the days you were supposed to, but this is the way of it.  You are the husband who snores and leaves his dirty underwear on the floor.  2012 is the on-line profile that promises candlelight dinners, walks on the beach and all that kayaking.  It’s hard to compete with that.

But I really did appreciate the effort you made.


Sondra Stinglash

Go ahead and click on the teeny envelope icon and send this post to a friend. Don't be jerky and claim that you wrote it because I wrote it, damn it.

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