Sunday, 22 June 2003 | Water

Dear R.,

I'm exhausted of you, of your bad timing, your arrogance and persistence. You've ruined several of my weekends the past two months, turning otherwise promising events into exercises in trying to avoid you: the Field Day Music Festival; The Mermaid Parade; the Williamsburg Bridge 100th Birthday Celebration.

Of course I realize you don't have the capacity to care. Without guilt, you sink into my clothing, into the strands of my hair, into my shoes and socks, soaking into me and making me cold and miserable. You bead up on my camera and cell phone and work your way into the grooves of their mysterious elements, where you fester and will eventually turn to rust. You're expensive.

I blame you for the constant 60 degree temperature that should've died with April. I blame you for making people stay at home, making people go home early, making people hide under imposing umbrellas that take up valuable sidewalk space.

Please consider leaving me alone, at least for the month of July.

Lisa