est. 1987

Letter Dump.

It’s just like me to get behind on a project, I suppose. Mayhaps I haven’t been motivated, but get ready for a decent sized block of fail!text courtesy me.

Day 3 — Your parents:
Dear Mom,

You are the best mother I could ever ask for. I only wish that you understood how much I really worry about well, everything. I do care, and I hate it when you like to say that I don’t. Understand that the computer is how I stay in touch with people I cannot afford to drive to. I am a people person. I like to write. Unfortunately, I like text better than I like my own chicken-scratch handwriting.

Things have been hard for awhile. I think that you get a lot of difficult times you definitely don’t deserve it. Nor do you deserve having to help me out with medical bills that neither of us believe I should have. But you do it because you’re my mom. I’m sorry.

I hope things get better though. Eventually.
Day 4 — Your sibling (or closest relative)

I’m the only child! I also come from a small family I just don’t talk to anymore, which is a shame. I enjoyed my cousins if anything, especially Mark. From what I heard from my uncle after he moved off he had problems with motivation or whatnot. And as I was apparently in the same position I always felt some sort of kindred spirit in how we were a disappointment to my dearest Uncle. I want to prove myself eventually capable, and I hope where ever Mark is he’s doing the same. He was a lovely guy who offered support during my grandpa’s funeral when nobody else was. Not that they could. Here’s to you, sir. You are truly amazing. I only wish I could find you to say hello again. I genuinely wish I knew what you were doing with your life.
Day 5 — Your dreams

You’re either good – really good, or bad, and I’m glad the bad only comes around from time to time. I wonder what it says about me if I’m bored with my own dreams though? Should I go to a couple’s therapy sort of thing for my BRAIN? Clearly we just aren’t in sync at the moment. Here’s to hoping you don’t get M. Night as a director, dreams!
Day 6 — A stranger

You know what? I like you as long as you don’t look at me and laugh when I don’t say a word. Oh, or when you’re in a car at the same time as I am and don’t make stupid moves such as forgetting to use your turn signals. Otherwise I don’t mind you. I like watching you, too, because you’re shiny. And you could be my friend, if I really cared. There are times I really regret not getting a name though to a happy conversation. How else am I going to stalk you on facebook? (Mmm, creeper entry!)
Day 7 — Your Ex-boyfriend/Ex-girlfriend

UGH. You suck. You take everything I say as bad, and quite frankly I’m tired of arguing with you every time we talk. We have our good days. We get over the petty arguments. But then I say something, you get angry, I get angry, and you throw out the now infamous “STOP ACTING LIKE YOU’RE A FUCKING SAINT!”. To which I always reply “I NEVER SAID I WAS!”

You see, once we reach that part of the now-fight we might as well just sign off on the messenger and cool off because nothing good can come of any words after this point. Nothing. After you utter those words it’s explosive and unhealthy.

I could probably write a novella with all of the shit you put me through. 🙂

Love, Me.

Day 8 — Your favorite internet friend

I don’t have a favorite internet friend at the moment. Okay, so maybe a friend that RPs as Prusse. She’s nice, but that’s just a new development. God, it makes me wish there were more males in that fandom, eh? I used to have more. I have had plenty of lovely internet friends and I still do, but I don’t have a favorite. Therefore, I can’t really write a letter, unless it goes as such:

Dear [insert name],

Keep being an amazing person. You are delightfully weird, wonderful, and unique. Let us make children. Thanks.

Day 9 — Someone you wish you could meet
To all of the many people I wish I could meet-

You have altered my life in some way or I believe would if we met. And if I want to meet you even though there’s the creepy internet chances you’re a 50 year old pervert… or if you’re dead (obvious issues there), you must be fun. Or fun enough. So fun in fact that I cannot express it through a very fatigued journal entry.

Until we meet!

PS: I’m tired. Very tired. Blame the kittens.


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