Dear 2005,

I think our relationship has come to its logical end. We just aren't good for each other. And I'm not even sorry to say that it's not me — it's you. I don't even want to be friends. There's just been too much DRAMA. Consider: - Major job change for M, with ensuing enormous jump in stress and workload - Passing out cold on my face at less than 6 weeks pregnant - The Hail Storm -- Jeesus, Gawd, what a fight that was! Did you have to smash up both cars AND the house? That's a little excessive, dear. Frankly, I call it abuse and suggest you seek counseling as soon as possible. - The remodeling process/hail-storm clean-up -- Contractors? Pain-in-the-ass Loan Counselors? Delay, delay, delay? If these are the friends you brought to this little "thing" we had together, you can keep 'em. - Then there was the cute day when the gas pump spewed all over me. Yeah, that was a postcard of a day, let me tell you. - SUMMER OF SIMMERING HELL-HOT-OW-OW-OW-MY-STOP-IT-ALREADY. C'mon, why you gotta treat a last-trimester prego girlfriend like that? - And for my birthday? All you got me was a C-section. I ASKED for a pony. - "Hello, new mama. Your intestines don't work anymore. Bladder went with them. Thanks for playing. You win two weeks in the hospital!" Worst Lottery Ever. So, after tallying all that up, I really think we should just end it right now. Goodbye Heavy-Drama 2005, and good riddance. But I'm keeping the stuff you gave me - the cool new job for M, a snazzy newer Honda, the awesome kitchen and such. And don't even try to come visit the baby. You're not her real father anyway. She's way too adorable for that.