Dear Amsterdam

I have made a decision to not obsess about you for the next few weeks.

That means no apartment hunting, no memorizing of city maps and neighborhoods, no reviewing the little I know of how to pronounce words in your language.

That means curbing my lustful fantasies about toasty fires in white snowy winters, long walks in your Vondelpark amidst a shower of falling autumn leaves (ting alert!), hopping on a weekend train to practically anywhere in Europe from the wonder of a transport hub you call Schiphol, your large-windowed Art Deco apartments, your damnably delectable stroopwafels...

*Cough* Curbed! These lustful fantasies are curbed, I say!

I really panicked this week and thought we were about to enter into a long-term relationship within the next three months. The erratic spikes in my heart rate have not been healthy (and you know I'm all about the healthy now, what with all this biking and running that I have been attempting).

So until I have a better idea of the life you have to offer me (aside from the opportunity to finally try pot for the first time at the ripe old age of 28), we'll just have to file away our relationship as that ridiculously brilliant high school invention known as a cool-off.

Get back to me when you have something good. Okay?

Love,
Currystrumpet

P.S. My husband might be another story. You might want to have a word with him in private.