To whom it may concern,
This letter is long over due, and i'm sure it will not be a shock when I tell you this is not working. We are just going through the motions. We keep saying we want the same thing, yet every Autumn it's the same thing all over again. As the temperature cools, leaves fall, and come November i'm banging my head against my desk hoping and praying, for a better day, and for the onsetting concussion to render me useless for weeks to come. Don't get me wrong, when it's good, it's great. Let's face it, you know what i like. You make life a fantasy.
However, when times are tough, i find myself quick to lose faith in everything i thought we had. Technology has only made things worse. I'm not the jealous type, but i can't help notice that from thursday night to saturday night your status is so quick to change. Your erratic and suspicious behaviors, covered by a flimsy veil of vague detail indicating nothing of your true intentions.
And what does questionable mean? When is that ever an acceptable answer to a simple question, like "Will i see you Sunday?" or "How's your knee doing". I care so much, yet my worries fall on deaf ears. Without proper communication how do we expect to have a future together. I tell myself every year it will be different, if you cease to make an effort i will say goodbye forever and move on.
Yet every sunday, against my better judgement, I come crawling back, like some starved crack addicted baby-child, eagerly awaiting my next suckle from your tainted teat. You strip me of my self esteem and my dignity every time, leaving me to be criticized by my friends, suddenly the wounded prey for the wolves to feast upon.
This is a sick cycle and i will no longer be a part of it. It's time i watched out for myself, and my future. You will be a memory, like the score of any Pro Bowl game. If anyone asks i will simply say my priorities are in order and i'm better off. Today i say goodbye to fantasy football, and resort to watching the NFL for the love of the game, and for me.
Team Hand Banana
written by: Michael Deering firstname.lastname@example.org