Dear LaMontagne

Have I ever written about how much I love Ray LaMontagne? Like. I. It's. I love him. I LOVE him. I. LOVE. HIM.

It's not like a crush, where I think it would be sweet if we got ice cream cones and took a stroll by a creek, though, if we did that I wouldn't be mad. Annoyed, maybe, as what the HALE are we doing outdoors by a creek when we could be doing pretty much anything else, but I would choke that annoyance down in the sheer presence of his being.

But it's not a crush.

It's like a reverential awe. The kind of awe wherein if we were on the afromentioned creek walk and he was all, "Listen, Ms. Liantonio,"-because my first name ain't baby. It's Sherry. Ms. Liantonio if you're nasty, which he probably isn't-so he would probably say, all soft-spoken and whispery, "So, Sherry. I want to be honest with you and tell you this isn't going to work out, because while this walk is lovely, and this dairy treat is delicious, I just like you as a friend. But here are free concert tickets for life, or like, the next few years or something.....Uhm, I am not sure if you are crying now because of heartbreak or because of your life allergies, but either way, let's sit and I will sing you Forever My Friend."

And I would say, "I totally get it, Mr. LaMontagne. You are the smartest ever. No other things would have be right."

And I wouldn't even be that upset. It's that kind of sick, desperate, unabashed adoration that will not die no matter what. In his first album which is just so depressed sauce, I fell in love with him wholeheartedly and did not look back. I know no other love like this, except perhaps for olives. I love my olives with such adoration that nothing, NOTHING, will make me give them up. Even after I hurled last week with the full knowledge that the last thing I'd eaten 12 hours prior was olives. I just turned off the bathroom lights and shut my eyes so I wouldn't have to see and give up my one joy.

I did love a person in real-life the way I love Ray. He was a TA I had in College. And I adored/loved him, adore-ved him, if you will. Oh my that man. I didn't want to date him, either. I more wanted to build a shrine to him in my roach-infested apartment, giving me another justification to leave the lights on at all times. It would keep the roaches away and add to the natural glory of that man. I called him the beautiful TA the entire time I had him as an instructor until he told us he'd gotten his PhD. Then I called him, Beautiful A, Doctor of the Language of Love.

Oh, memories.

Anyway, Ray is the best. His lyrics are amazing and he is PHENOMENAL in concert. Like, his voice is even better in real life than on the CD and that almost never happens, you know? I'm looking at you, Coldplay.

The first time I saw Ray in concert, I expected to be disappointed, frankly. I loved his first CD so much and thought there was no way, he could really sound like that and then he started to sing, and I was mesmerized. His voice was more powerful. You know how people say a voice is soulful and you want to throw up because that is lame? His voice, really, truly is soulful. I wanted everyone around me to shut up and just let him play and sing because it was so amazing. His entire band was amazing and being there felt, like, almost sacred, to me.

I know, I know. I don't care. I adorve him.

So, now watch this, so you can love him too. And if you decide you don't adorve him, I do not want to hear it. Because that will break my heart. And then I will have to go back down by that creek.

Dear W

I feel like my life is a constant re-enactment of that Sesame Street game where they sing, "one of these things is not like the others."

I want my insides to feel calm, not raw and throbbing. I want peace. I miss peace. I miss feeling certain about hope. I miss feeling certain about what I knew. I missing feeling certain.

It's the W, right? The W is the thing that's not like the others?

And I know that isn't wrong. I mean, even though it's not a 2, we need W. Without it, how would we differentiate between strappy sandals and wedge ones? Look at how many words in this post require  a W!

The W knows that even though it's not a 2, it has a purpose. It's not of less worth than the two's. The comparison between the letters and numbers is to teach you about them both. It matters even though it's alone. And probably when the W is surrounded by like-minded consonants, it remembers what it's there for. The W has the why.  Hi yo!

Sometimes, everything you once learned you have to learn again, so you can see the other side of what is also true.

Thank you, W. Now, I need a why.

Dear Lyrics

If "the love you get is equal to the love you make," then that explains my whole life.

Dear Bat Paranoia

The following is a list of things which mimic the sound of a bat loose in your apartment (particularly late at night about the time one would like to go to sleep):

curtains rustling
pages turning in a book
fancy shower curtain brushing against plastic shower curtain
sheets/blankets moving against the mattress or floors
any movement in a bed
someone knocking on the door
the door itself being opened
the door itself being closed
lights being flicked on
lights being flicked off
the sound of a hand against a lampshade as one turns a light on or off
neighbors walking above you
neighbors moving below you
TV being shut off
TV shifting after having been turned off because it might be too heavy for the shelf of entertainment center on which it rests
wind blowing outside
people talking outside
car doors being opened or closed
faucet dripping
anything in the sink on which the faucet could drip
my own breathing

all other noises