Dear Friend

November 17, 2008

Dear friend,
It’s been a solemn week. Stern, and quite. Almost like after graduation when I stopped wanting to see all of my close friends. I don’t think I saw the point, since I would most likely never see them again. I grew out of it though, so I’m sure it will pass. It’s very strange when I get into these types of moods—not wanting anyone around, yet laying on my bed, wishing someone warm were next me.
If I choose to conjure up a thought or memory instead of sulk through the hours, I tend to think of an instance of intimacy. The sweet ones with great bodies and cute faces. The ones who can converse and penetrate eloquently. The past eleven months have certainly been nothing that could resemble a game of last virgin wins, and I find myself growing adverse to sex—by any manner, in any form. Too much, too quick, I suppose. I think, though, that the best are the ones who ask me back. The ones who want more. It is most comforting when we are alone to know that someone would like to be with us at that moment. I hope you are someone who asks them back for more. I don’t think I am.
And I don’t think I’m the type to bond with anyone out of willful force. People say they come together during tragedy, but I just don’t see myself being put in that position. While playing legal guardian a few months back for one of my closest and most personal, every day was spent with a small group of people. Did distress and anguish bring us together? I doubt it, since I liked them before he pulled the trigger. I guess it’s good for her that we get along; I don’t think I’d allow myself to be forced into interaction (at least not for more than a few hours or a couple hundred dollars, as I’ve so humbly become accustomed to).
Oh, and if you were wondering if I got anything for my birthday, I did. A bag of carbs. I know, that doesn’t make sense. My friends feel that I need carbohydrates in times of anger and temper and stress and confusion—to balance me. I don’t disagree with them, but I also don’t like being considered dependant. A giant gift bag filled with the following: multiple bags of potato chips, 2 loaves of bread, chocolate Skittles, Twizzlers, Milk Duds, various chocolates, Wheat Thins, 3 packages of cookies, and at least 25 more pounds of nothing productive for my waistline. I was happy to get it, for it truly was thoughtful. It’s like when someone hears something in passing, and then acts on it in the perfect instance. As great as going after them, or roses at the office after questionable third date sex. I also got checks and cash from family, as one can only expect. So as much as I hate that they aren’t steam, and don’t make me lose 5 pounds overnight, carbs are a true godsend, legitimately.

Kiss-Kiss,
Dante