Before I go

I'll remember this year as one of the best years of my life so far. I got a job that I love. I quit that job. I survived losing an organ and spinning on the freeway. We survived a bi-coastal relationship, one red-eye flight at a time. I went to places I daydreamed about in the travel aisle of Barnes and Noble. I ambushed North Korean diplomats, I saw dead bodies. I moved and moved and moved. I made my parents proud. I grew up a little, I think.

And now, we bring you live coverage of 1L.

Names have been changed to protect the privacy of the parties involved.

Dear Schmanford,

How I've loved you. I taped your picture above my computer monitor, I flew to visit you, I made my English teacher in 12th grade edit and re-edit my essay to you until she asked me to stop showing her the same damn thing. What I would've given six years ago to be in the warm comfortably temperate embrace of your perfectly manicured palm trees.

And how you've loved to be coy, then and now again.

Well, Schmanford, this time I know better than to hold my breath for you. I'm moving on, moving to the coast of sunrises for Schmale. Schmale accepts me for who I am.

Goodbye forever. You will never again hear from me or, if I can help it, every last one of my descendants.

Yours No Longer,

Schmames