Thursday, March 27, 2008

Dear Panama,

I am extremely honored by your letter written at Christmas. I do, absolutely, give a shit. I don't know why I just decided to blog my response to your four magnificent epistles. I think that it is just that I am in a typing/blogging mood. Also in a public, exposing, tell-all sort of mood.

But you're sad so much these days
I don't know what to do
So to try to cheer you up I tell you tales about the men I love
and how it's oh so very hard to choose (beat)
And you tell me that I'm flippant
like the children who put stickers on their binders
you tell them that they're wrong (beat)
Be like me and put them here
Believe me when I tell you that I'm right
My bedstand's built to last
Sometimes I wish that we could go
Back to how it was-
With sunny afternoons and ransom notes
(beat) Oh weren't we funny
With snowcones in abundance
When I had you to myself six hours a day
But now I'm here and you are there, my friend
The stalemate where you won't return my calls

Don't ask to by a lyricist, because the problem with lyrics is that they are never any good. Ever. But these ones came to me this morning, and they are about Tyler (obviously?) They start in the middle of a verse and end in the middle of another verse, but I think that you should probably write some music to go with them and finish it if you like. My vision is a cross between that Moldy Peaches song in Juno and
Which is by Ryan Fitzgerald, esteemed boyfriend of my estranged, S.A.D.-ed friend. But my vision is not necessarily reality.
I am refusing to miss anyone right now. Not Tyler or Chris or Andee or any of them, and to stay with the theme of not missing, I can't miss you either, not actively.
But luckily I have ample opportunity to think about ROADTRIP!! with WES!! which basically makes up for the missing thing. Speaking of which, I got the car! It is the love of my life at the moment, oh yes.
There. That one. In red, like the picture. It is a stick shift, but even with that extra persnickity-ness it is just about the sweetest, most good natured automobile I have ever encountered. And hopefully if my parents don't drive it too much between now and when I get home in June, it will still smell all clean and new-car-y.
I am happy. Straight, solid, happy. Which is surprising considering my standing with all of my old friends from home, but I have found that I just don't care about them at all any more.
The people in Santa Cruz are nicer and more interesting and much less likely to be cruel because I'm me. Apparently sometimes friends aren't really mean to you all the time. Did you know that? I didn't. It's really cool.
But I still don't know what I'm doing this summer. It's a mystery. I just know that I don't want to be in Sacramento for very long. I want to travel around the country and I want to work, but I don't really know when I want to travel or where I will live while I work at an, at this point, unknown job. Makes me long for summer camp.
That is all I can say right now, which seems a sad answer to your wonderful letters. Probably it has something to do with the fact that I can't draw fantastic things on them, or that I don't want to pour out all my weepy emotions into a public forum, even when I am, as I am now, in a public sort of mood.
Salud y amor y tiempo para disfrutarlo.

No comments: