Dear "This Week",
I know that we only just met a couple of days ago, and I do honestly hate jumping to conclusions, but I have to be honest with you. What we have going on right now isn't going to work out. Yes, I know I should give you a chance, but you've had a couple of those already.
Take yesterday for example. You (being Monday that day) and I (being Peter, as I normally am) thought a quick jaunt to the gym would be fun. After all, my studying was done, my rehearsals were over, and my friends were there waiting to play volleyball. I know I'm not very athletic, and I know I only go to the gym once every couple of months, but seriously? My plan was to play a couple of games of volleyball with my friends. Your plan, which seems to have been the one that manifested, involved ending the night with an odd sort of crunching/popping sound coming from my ankle, which, as it turns out, was the sound of one or more of the ligaments in my ankle tearing. You missed my bones though, if that's what you were going for. So... thank you Monday, I had fun, but let's not do it again.
As I was (quite understandably) upset with you after that, This Week, you decided it would be good to approach me as a day named "Tuesday," as Monday and I clearly did not hit it off too well. Well, This Week, let me tell you... you didn't fool anyone. What I think tipped me off was when you decided to throw all of my keys into the toilet and flush them into the netherworld. In those three short seconds, you managed to lock me out of all of the residence halls on campus, my own dorm room, my work (where my clarinet is stored, so I guess that's off limits too), heck, you even locked me out of the hallways leading to my work, and, ironically, the clarinet reed room (which is ironic only because I just put that key on my keychain... ah... in the presence of Sunday, when you first wandered into my life).
Honestly, This Week, I know the ankle thing was kind of humorous a little bit, and the key thing was definitely funny (although those keys are $50 a pop...), but if this is how you're going to treat me, I think we're going to have to go our separate ways. I'm sure you had grand plans for my date with "Wednesday", but I think I'll pass. It has been suggested that you have plans to hit me with some well-aimed bird poop, but I will have none of that.
I either want a re-do, or I'm hibernating until Next Week comes around...