A "Dear Barack" Letter:
Dear Barack,

We've had some good times over the last few years. Hell, 2008 was one of the most hopeful times in my life. Remember all those rallies and adoring crowds? God, it was wild. I didn't think I could keep up with you; you were so intense, so passionate. But once we started living together, things changed.

Sure, sure, you brought me flowers, you told me how much you cared, and you moved me in ways that I never thought I'd be moved. You can still do that to this day. But isn't that the way it is with our lovers? There's always going to be parts of them that we miss. That just shows that you meant something, and that you still do. But I need to do this for the sake of my sanity, my self-esteem.

If you care to know why, let me explain. You started to take me for granted. Almost immediately your eye started to wander. When we'd go out, I'd always think, "I'll be he's looking over there at that table to the right." You told me not to worry about it. You said that I was still your heart and soul.

You made promises you never kept, Barack. And it's not as if you ever apologized for breaking them. You'd say that we would climb mountains together, but you decided that you'd rather go hunting. "In the future, we'll climb mountains, don't worry," you told me. "We can't afford it right now." But somehow, you always found the money for other things. Even the ones you kept were somehow diminished. You said we would build a house. Instead, you got us a trailer. You told me to be happy with a trailer. You took the things I cared about and you said you cared, too. Then you either cast them aside or did the bare minimum to show you cared.

Even now, you're still making promises, as if you still believe they can come true. They can't. Not unless you change. Not unless you're willing to fight for us. But I don't think you can. I don't think that's who you are.

I got into this relationship without any illusions about who you were. I never listened when others told me that you were perfect. I never listened when some told me you weren't worth my time. I got together with you because I believed in us. You and me. Somewhere along the way, you stopped caring. Somewhere along the line, you started believing in others more than you believed in me.

I loved you as a smart, principled man. I worked at this relationship. Even when we fought, I still sought out the good in you. Now, finally, after watching you have affair after affair, saying each time that it was just a one-time thing, I have to allow myself to feel bitter and angry and more than a little foolish. And I have to do that by myself.

I'm sure many of my friends will be upset. "What are you going to do now?" they'll say. "You're not going to date Mitt or Michele, are you?" What that implies is that I should settle, that I should compromise myself and my dreams just to keep us together. No one deserves that kind of power. And they never considered a third option between staying with you and being with someone else. They never considered that I could just be alone.

So this is a separation, and I'm sure you'll be dating again quickly. But I need a break. I need to remember why I loved you. I need to miss you. I need to see if I miss you. Sure, sure, you'll say, I'm being a drama queen, that nothing has changed, that I don't live in the real world, that everything you've done has been for me, that I just don't understand what it's like to live with the pressure that you have. No, but I have to live with the results of what you do. And after you're done, in 2013 or 2017, you'll still be a rich moderate conservative and I'll still be a middle-class liberal trying his best to clean up all the messes.

I'm gonna pack up my stuff and head out now. I wish you well, truly, for everyone's sake. But I think if there's anything you can take away from this, it's simple:

It's not me. It's you.

The Rude Pundit