Letters

I'm biting from Anne Nahm, who inspired me to craft some letters of my own, because it's just that kind of day. And like Anne, I'm going to kick it off with a letter to the Universe.

Dear Universe,

Look. I know my complaints are small and generally first-world. Like, geez, it's freezing in this house I'm really lucky to be living in here or god, this pasta is filling and nutritious and at least you're eating tonight, twit bland. So I only ask one favor. Could you please do something about the whole waking at 4:30am thing? Because it has fashioned itself into the perfect time to roll around and wallow in self-doubt and self-loathing, beating myself up for God knows what, although I will give you this: when the alarm goes off a mere 30 minutes later (yes, that's right!) and my gorgeous husband presses his early morning wood into my backside spoons me, things tend to right themselves, somehow.

That's all for now.

Kel

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Dear Guy Who Keeps Tossing His Tobacco Juice Bottles In Front of Our House,

Um...could you stop it? I pick trash up all the time, because a lot of people tend to walk around being all lazy and they can't just hang on to the trash item until they get home. They must dispose of it at that moment because that Twix bar wrapper is simply too much for their fingers to handle. It's awful, the burden of actually throwing garbage in the...garbage. And as much as I fantasize about going all Carl Hiassen-hero on litterers and hijacking a dump truck filled with refuse to dump on the spot where YOU live, I cannot do that, so I pick up the Wawa hoagie wrappers and candy wrappers and empty iced tea bottles and McDonalds bags and I throw them out...in the garbage. Other people's garbage in my garbage. Weird. But whatever. Still, I draw the line at bottles filled with brown spit. So I don't know whatever it is about our curb that inspires you to leave it with us, but I'm praying that somehow you wake up and realize what a giant turd move that is, and maybe you should take your spit with you and throw it out...in the garbage.

Sincerely,

I Refuse To Pick Up Spit



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Dear Girls in My Chemistry Class,

So we were all discussing what courses we were signing up for during the upcoming summer session, and I cop to feeling extremely jealous when you starting talking about taking A&P in the morning and then being able to study on the beach in the afternoon. And I was like, that's totally not right. You should be forced to spend summer evenings in the lab until 11:30pm like me and then have to try to study during the day while children climb all over you asking for a popsicle because it's just so hot. You should have to hang with those children (who really are adorable, by the way, but also supremely...ahem...needy) from 6:45am to 4:30pm, and do the homework and studying for a condensed course, and probably do all the other things you do like meal-planning and laundry and gathering the giant dust balls that congregate in the corners. But then you asked me when I was taking Chem II, and I told you that I had to take evening classes because the kids are home with me, and you were like, "You have kids? How old are you?" And I was like, "I'm 34," and you were like, "Wahhhh?" And your friend was like, "Wahhhh? I swear, I totally thought you were like 23 or something." And then you were like, "You look sooooooo young," at which point I climbed across the lab table, knocking over my titration set up and spewing the HCl everywhere, and kissed you both on the mouth, because that's how giddy you made this tired, stressed mama. And so now I say, go study on the beach young ones. Tan those tiny bodies unsullied by pregnancy. Enjoy the feel of class in the morning, and the sun and sand in the afternoon. Because you deserve it.

Love forever and ever,

Kelly

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Dear Dave,

Last night I walked in from class, feeling less than stellar. Sure, I'd gotten a 93 on the previous week's lab, and sure, those girls were blown away by some weird trickery of light my youthful appearance. But, man, the existential crises! Always with the existential crises! They come and they go, mercifully, but they tend to knock my socks off a bit, and can shrink me into this tiny ball of bitterness, which I hate, because I have nothing to be bitter about. But anyway, there you were on the couch, with the children snug in bed and the kitchen cleaned (cleaned!), and you were happy to see me. I love it when you wrap me all up and tell me that I'm your friend, because you make me feel special and like I'm good and I'm doing things alright. And even though we ram heads sometimes and get all uppity with one another, I like to think how wrong that guy was who told me "Good luck with that" after asking what your sign was and what my sign was. Because your Capricorn and my Sagittarius make a pretty good team. And I love you.

Love,

Kel