Dear New England,
We seriously need to talk.
Now, I know you have your quirks and I have mine. And I will grant, I am not always the easiest person to live with. But this passive-aggressive behavior has got to stop.
You run so hot and cold these days, I just don’t know what to do to please you. One moment, I’m enjoying a run outside, the next moment I’m bundled in all manner of winter gear and trying to stay dry because you can’t decide whether you want to rain or snow. I will admit that there is a certain beauty to you once you’ve had done with your tantrums; when the snow rests peacefully on the trees and icicles hang sparkling from the eaves. I will also say that in your milder moments, there’s nowhere in the world I would rather be.
The colors you wear in your fall wardrobe are unmatched, and your beautiful springtime airs are really all that a girl can ask for.
But then it becomes winter. And your mercurial side simply won’t allow for any reasonable moderate discourse. I’m always walking on thin (or sometimes thick) ice with you. I can’t make any firm plans because I don’t know how you’ll behave on a given day. You make it impossible to go out sometimes because you throw these tantrums that I’ve never seen anything like before in my life.
You know how much I hate shoveling. I’ve complained enough about it that I can’t imagine you would have missed this fact about me. And I will admit that everyone needs to make compromises; if I didn’t agree to some small amount of shoveling, I wouldn’t be able to see you in your autumn splendor. But this promise of something warmer and then yanking it away before my eyes has simply got to stop.
I thought I was done with winter. I thought I was done with the hoisting, the hefting, the cold sweats. I thought I was done with the aching back and the chapped face.
But you couldn’t even give me that.
And, as though to add insult to injury, you decide that on the day my brand new theatre company debuts its brand new production that you know I’ve been working hard on and losing sleep over, you’re going to upstage it by making your own scene. So you huff and you puff and you blow parking regulations down, and we have no recourse but to cancel. This night, this night I’ve been looking forward to, this night I’ve been working so hard for, is now taken away from me. Lost into the swirling white of your raging temper.
I really don’t know what else to say to you. I don’t think that there’s a way you can make this up to me. It’s time for some serious re-evaluation of our relationship, New England. Let me recommend that you start groveling. Right now. I’m sad and disappointed at the moment, but this will quickly dissolve into rage. And really, trust me, you won’t like me when I’m angry.
In case you couldn’t gather from this: due to a weather-induced parking ban in Winthrop, we’ve had to cancel Twelfth Night for this evening. We will be back tomorrow full-force and hungry, though, so don’t give up on us! Come and support our efforts as we bring you our experiment in communal theatre for the very first time!