Illustration by Bob AulI've been with you for five years, off and on. We split up, I got married, but you couldn't live without me, so I came back. I should have seen the signs: you asked me to be with you—not live with you, see, just live near you. I used to drive four hours through traffic to see you; you played computer games. I worked full time and carried 20 units at college; you cheated on me with some stupid chick. (Yeah, I know about the girl—know her name, her number and where she lives.) I miscarried two of your babies; you guilt-tripped me.
It took me a while, but I finally woke up. You know that “vacation” I went on? I'm gone, and I'm not coming back. I've been accepted to med school. Don't bother looking me up. I'm unlisted.
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