Dear,

When I was falling in love with you, I wrote a number of diary entries that were formulated as letters to you - letters I knew I couldn't send at the time. Let me share one with you from September 28, 2008.

"People have said that I'm a writer, that I have a way with words. This may be the case.But words are cheap. Even the greatest words written by the greatest men are cheap, simple, and manipulative. They are grunts we created ages ago in order to avoid the chaos of existence - at their best they convey technical information accurately and at their worst they abstract, compartmentalize, and dilute our very being. I find that they almost always fall short of what I need them to do, and as a result I am starting to abandon them whereas I once embraced them to a fault.

There are things we say with our eyes, and with our bodies, that I hope words never touch."

This sentiment remains, and it does so to an extent that has made composing a letter to you nearly impossible. Every word seems too heavy. Whereas I could once toss around poetic phrases like so much ticker-tape, I now find that such phrases would be like pins through butterflies. I don't want to write you poetry. It is too full of lies; it too easily becomes a love letter to language instead of the object of love. So what follows is not poetry, but the truth.

What I feel with you is new, yet familiar. What we have is mature, responsible, rational, and yet young, giddy, childish. We have, at almost five months together, more questions than answers. I am hopeful, but grounded - optimistic, but practical - excited, but cautious - and so on. I am in this thing for the long haul, but I don't know how long the haul will be. Yet, although I am positively crazy about you, it is in a way I don't particularly care to examine.

Everything I pick apart in my life is something I hate, from the evil workings of television commercials to the frustrations of the medical insurance business to the obvious conspiracy Tuesdays have against me. All of the systems and issues and traumas that affect me are where my questions go, where I direct all of my whys. The things that are good require no questions, no critical inquiries. From a delicious meal to staring at a tree in the wind to laughing at little dogs, I do not ask why I enjoy these things. I just enjoy them, and that is enough.

Of course, things with you are likely to not always be perfect, and at those times I will ask questions so that we can find solutions. But in the meantime, I don't ask myself a lot about you or my feelings for you.

But when it comes to liking you, or being with you, you like to always ask me your favorite question: "Why?"

The best answer, the truest answer, is also going to be the most frustrating:

Because.

she writes more of these things than I do . . .

Dear Yesterday, Today, and Tomorrow,

I'm going to get right to the point. I think you should all meet. I think you all have very different views of reality, but since you never have any sort of reference point, you just don't know. Yesterday, some might say you're constantly living in the past, which in the most literal sense of the word is quite true. But really, you have no past in which to live. On the plus side, though, troubles seem far away for you--or so I've been told through song. Yesterday, you are "unpredictable," but only because it is literally impossible to "predict" the past. Today, you are constantly changing. Unlike Yesterday and Tomorrow, your existence is constantly in the process of being formed. Yesterday stays absolutely still and doesn't change, and Tomorrow is so fluidly vague and conceptual, that change is not necessarily something that can be measured. But Today, it seems like really you're really just suffering from a constant case of middle-child-syndrome. Tomorrow is your younger sibling. You have to make sure to keep him in mind with each of your actions--considering with each step how it might influence Tomorrow, who can be extremely impressionable. Yesterday is your older sibling. It wasn't long ago that Yesterday was a Today just like you. It's often a good idea to pay close attention to how Yesterday behaved when he was your age. Although, it should be mentioned that with every day, the challenges that present themselves can change quite radically. Tomorrow, you're really mysterious but also ambitious. You are constantly dieting and dealing with Today's other hand-me-downs like essays and yardwork. Today never hesitates to offer your services for anything that he doesn't want to do himself. You often get the short end of the stick, but don't worry: in a few hours, you'll have a Tomorrow of your own to dump chores and whatnot onto. Of course, by that time, you will be Today.

In any case, I feel like if the three of you were to meet, it would help all three of you. Yesterday, if you meet Today and Tomorrow, you might get a better sense of the impact of your actions. Today, if you meet your "siblings" it might make the ordeal a bit more bearable--not to mention, you might make more of an effort to take initiative rather than dumping your dirty work on Tomorrow. And Tomorrow, you would get a glimpse into your future, and perhaps aim yourself in a more specific direction--start littering yourself with appointments and meetings in order to keep your future selves both entertained and goal-oriented.

So I think you three should set aside your differences and get together sometime. That's my recommendation. It's up to you to figure out how to do that. Give Stephen Hawking a call. Or maybe H.G. Wells (although, it may be best to stay within the realm of non-fiction). That's your job, Today. Don't dump it on Tomorrow.

-Tessa

get together again, for old time's sake . . .

Dear Larger Version of Annette,

You’ve put on a little extra weight, I am telling you this because I care and also because I miss you. Stop making up excuses. We will both feel better if you just use me. You are fully capable of going for a run, I just can’t comprehend why you wouldn’t and why you don’t. You and I used to be tight, running used to be a fun hobby. Now I hardly see you anymore. Sometimes you open the closet and see me sitting there, I get excited thinking that this will be the day I finally get to run again. Then you close the door and I am left alone in the dark, again. Please, just go for a run for me. I need it, it’s what I was made for and this closet time has started to get to me.

-Your Nike+ running shoes collecting dust in the closet

from What's That Blog

meniality rears its tedious head . . .

Dear Work,

Why must the day be so long? Why can we not be civilized and work the necessary amount of time to get all the work done that is required? If I finish everything I need to do by 2:30, why can I not go home? You know as well as I that I'll just sit around and read about Amy Winehouse's emphysema or Jamie Lynn Spears's baby. Then alt-tab to pretend that I'm reading that exact same email notifying us about the union strike, like I can't hear it from here.

But really. Is the 40-hour work week really necessary? Must I draft another letter to your friend, the US Government and ask that the standards of work be amended to suit the changing face of e-business? Things get done faster. There is no need to be here for 8 hours, and because that is SUCH a large portion of the day, it incites more laziness and time-wasting in order for an employee to feel like this is not slavery. I don't actually care about Amy Winehouse. If I was given the time I need, and set free once the requirements of my day had been met, I would not read about such garbage in order to fill up the small minutes between large tasks.

I implore you, Work. Set me free. Or at least recommend me to a good place that does adhere to such exalted work standards.

Sincerely,
Probably everyone here

from meelou

it isn't so hard to understand . . .

Dear Anonymous,

I would have told you this a long time ago, but the words never seemed appropriate. When someone confesses love, usually they want a committed relationship to develop out of it. I had no idea how to say, "I'm in love!" without you assuming I wanted more than you could give. What should be a declaration of joyous emotion usually makes people feel like shit: I feel vulnerable and anxious confessing it, and I feel pressured and guilty when someone else confesses that they are in love with me.

I do not want anything extra from you. I have no intention of trying to become your girlfriend. I feel bonded to you somewhere between friendship and romance, somewhere a little more enlightened than lust and less committed than monogamous love.

I want you to ask me to come home with you, but not to come home to you.

Sincerely,
Vi

being mean is frequently funny . . .

Dear Middle Aged Code Pink Protestor,

It was so nice to start my morning off with a slice of your hypocrisy pie. I thought it was especially cute when I walked past you at 8:30 in the morning and you yelled “wake up,” at me. I thought it was extra cute when you forced a pamphlet into my hands and then held my hand while looking somberly into my eyes and then whispering “wake up.”

After our delightful meeting this morning that not only challenged the war but also the conventional standards of social interaction betwixt strangers (LADY HELD MY HAND) I was forced to assemble a brief list of reasons why I hate you.

1.) Ahh boomers, there are a lot of reasons I think you are self deluded assholes. For starters let us more beyond that “we ended the war,” none sense because the vast majority of you were not involved in student protests. For the minority of you who were involved in the student protest movement congrat’s, I mean seriously you made the rain fall totes hard, what was that, 5 years between the 68' riots and the Nixon pulling out of Vietnam? Yeah I think it was and didn’t he pull out of Vietnam for a myriad of reasons, only one of which was the protest movement? So like good job or whatever can we move beyond all your high and mighty generation Q bullshit, thanks.

2.) Hey I am against the war and don’t like that it is my generation who is fighting the war, maybe I would like to protest with you? Oh fuck wait, I can’t because I have a crap load of student loans which I took out to go to college because since you graduated the cost of a college education has tripled. Plus it is harder and harder to get government aide so I guess I will have to go to my bitch job this morning to pay for the college education that you insisted I get, thanks.

3.) I was not the one who gave up on the dream, bought a Volvo, voted for Regan and elected Bush twice, so you can take that smug look off your face old-timer.

I will not be judged as a yuppie by you people, in all likelihood this is the first time you have been to the financial district in years before 10am. You probably live in the East Bay and fill your life with childcare and book clubs. Those of us involved in the world of work, which is coincidentally where real power is born are not fools nor have we lost the republican spirit this nation was founded on. We do however have to make rent, so take your judgement elsewhere boomers.

-CT

beware what people do not say . . .

Dear Anonymous,

There I was, with you and him and him. Of course, one of the hims was your date, and the presence of us other two was transparently to serve as a social buffer (or posse or safety net). I have a tendency to dominate conversations, but as this was primarily your date with Boy #1, I decided to not tell any of my infamous stories or gossip or tease Boy #1 about anything that might make you dislike him. But it meant I bit my tongue continuously - you could probably see my eyes twinkle with the pain. Let me tell you a few things you obviously did not know.

The male roommates I mentioned include my boyfriend, but that statement I made about needing someone to take me out was still true. It's a long stupid conversation that would have completely distracted you from your date and probably make you dislike me. You liked me. I liked you. You're a cool girl. Here we go to dispell some assumptions and make some prophecies:

Boy #2 and I are not a couple, although we have slept together. Our whole dynamic seemed weird to you, I could tell. Anyway, speaking of sex:

I have slept with Boy #1, several times. He wants to be dominated, which you obviously can't tell from his dominant personality. Playing the passive little girl is not going to get him - you need to be more aggressive about it. There's a high likelihood he will not open his eyes frequently while in bed. He might start saying things you don't want to hear if you get into a dominant sexual position, so consider yourself warned.

He will probably end up hurting your feelings in some way, and I hope you like drinking ALL the time, because he does. But he also liked you less as you became sloppier in your drunkenness, so find a way to drink, but reign it in. This contradiction may take practice to execute well.

It will be easy for him to keep secrets from you, unless you really push it, in which case he will be unnecessarily mean about being honest.

That weird homosexual undertone of Boy #1 & Boy #2's friendship? Yeah, that's not just a joke. Boy #1 has some insecurities when he's next to Boy #2, which makes me wonder why he invited Boy #2 to his date. I think they want to fuck each other - you may be playfully asked to compare the two in looks or personality, so start planning your diplomatic answer now.

And that pattern Boy #1 was establishing of not asking you any questions about yourself, that's because we were in a group. He will ask more of those questions if the two of you are alone, but he won't remember any of the answers. He'll probably forget them because he likes to have conversations while the television is on. He tricks himself into thinking he can concentrate because he puts the damn thing on mute, but he's wrong. Oh, and it's all about reality tv shows (which he feels guilty about liking) and History Channel/A & E real-crime shows (which make him feel outraged) at his place. These two types of shows are particularly annoying to try and watch while muted, especially if you are "having a conversation" at the same time.

But he's not a bad guy. He just says he is so he'll scare away the girls with weak constitutions.

I guess what I wanted to tell you is: you probably don't deserve what's coming your way. Unless, of course, you're a truly hardcore stone-cold bitch and were merely biting your tongue about it the whole evening.

-Vi

P.S. Boy #1 has a silly tattoo of a musical note on his back, and may also show you his recording studio, but the motherfucker hasn't played a show in at least a year. Stay on your toes.