Letter To A Lover

Dear Solitaire,

Be you traditional or Spider you are evil incarnate. You thwart my good intentions. You make me hate myself.

Solitaire, you disguise yourself as a means to a sharp mind. You claim to be able to make me think, to use reason. But you’re set up to beat me most of the time, making me feel stupid, or worse, determined to beat you with another game. And another. And another. You keep me playing with your bright colors, fun clicky flippy noises and cheerful ringing sounds. Until there are no more plays left for me. You did it on purpose. I must try again. And again. And again.

If defeating me weren’t enough, you provide statistics. The number of tries I made. The number of failures I had. The number of games I’ve played. The number of minutes I’ve wasted. And the minutes translate into hours. I hate you.

For some you are a more potent hypnotic than television. Like with my friend Ruthie, who you also woo. She won’t take on the NaNoWriMo challenge because it might cut into her time with you. Instead of sharpening our minds, you turn them to mush.

You are the ultimate tool of procrastination. You masquerade yourself as a short time-out when you are really a time sucker, an energy sucker. You keep the laundry hamper full and cause dinner to be late. You push the actualization of dreams so far into the future I feel hopeless. You prevent me.

I’m just letting you know, I vow to keep you hidden deep within my computer, at least for the time being. I have things to accomplish. Dreams to pursue. I have a life to live, damn it. So save your flashy kings and queens for someone else. I’m not going to let you steal my soul.

Except maybe just one more game…

Sincerely,

Meredith