Dear Los Angeles,
Hi, it's Katie. Remember me? I lived on your border from 2001 to 2005 and then virtually every summer since. I think I left on pretty good terms, but it's come to my attention that we need to have some words.
Tomorrow morning I'm going to drop my husband off at the airport to fly away from me. To fly away from me, and to fly to you. I'm not going to lie, I'm not just sad, I'm also green with envy and all different kinds of jealous of you.
You get my husband for a month. You get to be there when he goes to his dream hospital and tries his dream job on for a month. You get to witness the triumphs and you'll be responsible for caring for him in the struggles. You hold all kinds of wonderment for him: our niece, his nephew, and much better fast food. So for a whole month he'll be with you and not with me.
You're kind of a bitch.
It's difficult because, on the one hand, I want you to be good to my husband, I really do. I want him to enjoy this rotation at this great hospital, make connections with people there and spend time with his family. I want him to feel comfortable and competent and I want him to learn all the things he can't/didn't/won't learn from reading books.
But at the same time, I want you to suck just a little bit because I need him to want to come back here. New Orleans is wonderful, but we don't have 1 year old nieces and 12 year old nephews. We don't have prestigious hospitals with great programs (at least in his field). We don't have In-and-Out burger or Baja Fresh, and thanks to Katrina, we're very low on Taco Bells.
So I think we just need to set some parameters. You can be filled with wonderful work experience, sane family time and better fast food, but you must also balance this with lots of traffic, smog and a profound lack of me. We can both win, but only if you cooperate.
More than anything else, above any selfish requests I might make, please be good to him and please keep him safe. He's pretty important to me.
Dear Los Angeles,