Dear Neighbors

Uhm...sorry about the violin playing. Whilst it is true that I played the violin for like 11 years, I still pretty much suck. So my apologies for the screeching and sawing. It was supposed to be a concerto.

Use your imagination.

Love
me

Dear Quote about the Past

“History, despite its wrenching pain, cannot be unlived, but if faced with courage, need not be lived again.”

Maya Angelou

Dear New York City

I love you!
me

Dear Leftovers

You caused me terrible gastro-intestinal distress last night. So for dinner tonight? I am trying you again.

...

What? Last night could have been a fluke. And it looks so yummy. There's no way it could happen again.

Total fluke.

Right?

Love,
me

Dear Scary Show That I Cannot Watch Again

You are a clever show, but after five episodes, I went to bed terrified. I tried to tell myself I wasn't scared and I even fell asleep. However, about four hours later, I woke up to the sound of three rhythmic taps. Under normal circumstances, I wouldn't have thought too much about the noise. I would have convinced myself that it was just some odd knock on one of the apartment doors in my building or something that fell and bounced twice. But five hours of serial killers, dismembered bodies, blood and swears, and what was a normal nocturnal interruption turned into the firm belief that there was a murderer lying in wait under my bed.

I tried to talk myself down from the fear of impending death. I reasoned that since I had been home sick in bed all weekend, the likelihood that someone had snuck into my home and placed themselves under my bed for what would amount to roughly 63 hours, was pretty slim. And yet...

Terror. I was in terror.

I took some deep breaths and listened to the silence. I could not hear breathing. Not one other noise was present. "It was just a TV show," I told myself. Myself was not persuasive and my subconscious was already on the horror train, as I now noticed that my blankets were wrapped around me burrito style. Apparently dreams of mayhem tormented me into a twisted mess. I declared myself ridiculous and ordered an immediate growing up mandate.

I then attempted to untwist the blankets. The light from my apartment complex parking lot shone perfectly on the raised sheets in such a pattern that instantly paralyzed me. I was certain that the light was like that black light the police in the show put on objects to see if there was blood. The patterns I saw confirmed that someone had been murdered, IN THIS VERY BED!

I was now wide awake. I tried to remember, again, that I was alone and safe and not in the clutches of a serial killer. I did eventually go back to sleep, but it took me four days to sleep soundly and unafraid of certain death.

It is for these reasons, then, that I cannot watch you, dear show.  I try to toughen up but I cannot handle the killings.

Also I don't think it is healthy that I completely identify with the feelings of that serial killer. Er, I mean, also it is really scary.

And I refuse to look under my bed.

me

Dear Reminder to Me

Hey. Try to remember:

There will be enough; enough time, enough love, enough olives. There will be enough.

me
you
we?

Dear Unfulfilled Dream

I think I would have made a great spy.

No, I truly believe it. I am certain.

I also know that I could say that to someone and they would say, you should do it. They would be encouraging and say I should do it.

And I would hesitate and do nothing.

I think that is lame. I mean, the spy thing isn't really an option, but I am always saying things I want or should do and then...crickets. Nothing. The worst part? I didn't even realize I was the sort of person who was all talk and no action. I thought I worked hard and got stuff done, and sometimes I do, but I don't take action on what I want. I thought I was being patient. I thought that I was waiting for things to happen because eventually they would. I didn't know the waiting would become a stalemate. 

I think the answer is just do it, but it really doesn't seem that simple to me. It should be. I know I need to just do something. But what and how? I know it's pathetic whining. I know there are people who live and people who would live if they were healthy and single. I am sorry that I am not doing more, but who cares about sorry if there is no change?

Hello, corner. I love the color I have chosen to paint myself into you. Fabulous.

Anyways...

I will do something. It will be fantastic, not in deed, but because of accomplishment. Or in deed, because I have done it in a fitted, black, bullet-proof suit, and heels; hanging upside down from the outside of a 125-story building after having saved Johnny Depp and THE WORLD.

me