You and I have always had a tumultuous relationship, it's true. The last couple of years we managed to co-exist relatively peacefully though. I was even starting to notice your (few) merits. It was obvious to me that we had come to an understanding and that it was past time to sign a truce.
I was wrong.
This year you completely ignored our previous cease-fire agreement and came after me with a fury. Were you saving up ammunition over those quiet years so that you could lead a more concerted attack now? You knew I would drop my defences, that the border guards would become less than vigilant due to the good relations we'd been enjoying. You even got together with your pal January (whom I've never completely trusted) in some sort of allied pact to lull me into a false sense of security and confidence so that your ambush would be all the more powerful for it's complete element of surprise.
It almost worked.
You laid siege in the most determined and forceful way. You hit me with cold temperatures, snowstorms, ice storms and anything else you could manage to keep away the light and trap me in the dark. You used all of those snow days and "planned power outages" to convince me that there really was nothing better to do than sleep, sleep, sleep. You distracted the children so that it seemed they didn't need me at all; making me feel useless and like no one would be hurt if I just took another nap. You took away my appetite so that I wouldn't supply my body with the vitamins needed to win this war and I would sink deeper into the lure of sleep. You convinced me that the floor could wait just one more day to be swept, that the laundry didn't need to be folded and that the bathroom could handle a few more baths before cleaning. You told me that my schedule was useless and that I was useless too and, for a while, I listened.
Here, on the extra day you somehow managed to sneak in on us so that you could get a few more hits in, I'm declaring my victory. I have survived. I am battered and bruised and it's going to take time to rebuild my self and my home, but you are on your way out. You got a little cocky there at the end, having won so many of the smaller battles, and I became more aware of what was going on. I'm pulling out my own ammo now, February, and I'm stockpiling for next year. In the meantime, it's time for you to pass the baton to March, and we both know I'm stronger than March.
So go ahead, have your extra day. Because your time is up. You've hit me hard, but I'm still standing.
I'm keeping this letter to you close by. I'll be referring to it next year and building up better defences. Because I know you'll be back. You always come back, and it's painfully obvious to me that you should never be trusted.
It's over between us.