Once upon a time, we enjoyed a relationship of mutual respect and admiration. I allowed you to stick sharp things into my arms and drain me of blood, and in return you gave me as many vanilla sandwich cookies as I could eat.
That’s all over now. You’ve told me, in no uncertain terms, that you don’t want me around anymore.
If I’m honest with myself, I realize the end has been looming for some time now. You’ve dropped plenty of hints that your interest was waning; back in 1997 you told me you wouldn’t be needing me for another three years. When I came back to you in 2000, you sent me away again, and I walked away without complaint, your dispassionate dismissal ringing in my ears.
This time is different. This time, we may be looking at the end. And I can’t understand what I’ve done to deserve this shoddy treatment.
So I spent six months in England back in 1993. And, okay, another seven months in 1996. But that hardly seems reason enough to shun me the way you have. I understand, I suppose, your suspicions that I did something, well, untoward with a local cow during my travels through Yorkshire (like eat part of it). And I can appreciate that you are by nature cautious, and feel a considerable need to protect yourself from my past steak consumption, and other youthful indiscretions we don’t need to get into right now.
But at the same time, I am hurt, truly, by your unequivocal rejection. I’m sorry to have to tell you this — but I have a lot to give, and quite frankly I don’t see why I should have to give up one of my most satisfying relationships just because you are suffering from what seems to be a bout of paranoia.
I hope you will reconsider your decision to send me away. If not, I want you to know I will remember our times together with great fondness. I will treasure every last memory: You feeding me orange juice, me passing out in the back of your mobile unit, you sending me home when I came in with bronchitis.
As we part ways, I want you to remember something. If you should find, somewhere down the road, that you need me — that you can’t, in fact, continue without me, I may consider coming back to you. I am a proud person, don’t get me wrong. But I understand that even giant international non-profit organizations make mistakes sometimes.
With great fondness,
Jessica