I think it's time we take a break.

I can’t help but resent your continued appearance as I slowly peel the pages of my calendar towards spring. The first few times I saw you this past winter, I’ll admit I found you beautiful – but dangerous. And no, I’m not sorry for reducing you to such a cliché combination.

Add to that your unpredictable tendencies – no one knows exactly when you’ll show, or how long you’ll stay – and you can surely see why I think it's time we take a break.

You – you’re such an enabler, enticing me to avoid going out, to stay on the couch eating cookies while watching that Bravo TV marathon. Forcing me to don layers of puffy clothing that hide the cookie-related evidence when I do decide that enough is enough, I have to get out of this apartment.

And when I do finally venture out, despite your best efforts at keeping me in, you resort to physical reminders that the couch was a much better option. Let me tell you, I felt that bruised tailbone you gave me for at least a week. You’re almost as bad for my ass as those cookies (almost).

You stubbornly hang around, so slow to retreat. You already resemble one of those exes that leaves traces behind post-breakup – little puddles serving as a reminder of what a pain in the ass you started to be a few months into our ‘relationship’.

Yes, it was fun while it lasted, but I think it’s time you hit the road, snow and ice. I know, I know … I had decided I was ready to welcome you back into my life after enduring about four months with summer. But I’m notoriously indecisive, so you should have seen it coming.

Sure, you can try me again in seven or eight months. But until then, I think it best you not come around for a while.

Don’t take it personally.