Dear Updates Of Things

It's been almost a couple months now, but I'm still here...

Dear Last Blog,
I thought I could look at you and not feel bad anymore, but I was kind of wrong. Since everything happened I wasn't really alright with writing more blogs about other things, but I still knew you, last blog, were there. The thing is, over the past couple of months I have been retraining myself in some ways. In the beginning, and until recently, each time I left the house I felt like I Was forgetting something. And when I was gone I felt like there was something I had to return to. Neither were true. This being the case, I started to ease into the new phase of life, without my dog, and started to accept that he was in a beautiful blue pot next to my golden retriever, and below my wiener dog. But the thing is, last blog, I looked at you again tonight and realized that I'm not so over it as I want to be. There's a wonderful being in these pictures here. And I still wish I had gotten to know him better. So I guess, Last Blog, I am glad you exist as you are able to pay in-the-moment-tribute to a wonderful dog, but I don't like to see him there, and know that I can't see him here again.


Dear East Coast,
You guys. Ok. I just gotta tell you that, uhhhmmmm, 98% of the time I forget that we're not all living together anymore, and that if it's an appropriate time for me to call you, that YOU ARE, in fact, probably in bed. And see, the crappy thing about this for me, besides just having to admit we are so far away, is that I have to come to terms with the fact that if we are going to "phone chat" it has to be in my "afternoon", and um, I don't so much like chatting, and not in the afternoon. So I think about calling a lot of you a lot, but know that 1AM is not such a responsible time to do so (on a Wednesday). And that's when I do this: "But it's so Ear....Oh,. Right. Shoot." Someday I'll grasp it.


Dear Dogs,
If you have nowhere to go, I will house you. I will take care of you all until you get to where you need to be. I promise. I think about you all the time. I see some of you on the street, and yeah, if you don't have a tag, I'll chase you down. Like Patrick Swayzee with a double black belt chasing a degenerate or maybe chasing some damsel who's super hot. But you know, chasing with the intent to catch. I would like to build Mama's Urban Reservation for Kanines. And sure, maybe I'm living in a 400sqft basement apt with my boyfriend. But if you start coming, I promise, PROMISE we will find the ranch we belong in.


Dear Stranger Girls Slash People Slash How Could I Discriminate,
First things first, and kind of a major point here, I happen to fall into one of those super antiquated groups of people who finds someone super great and wants to only do that for a while. I have lots of buddies who subscribe to different terms in their relationships, and the cool thing about them is that, well, I embrace the way they function, and they embrace the way I function. It's like a cornucopia of relationships going on. And we all have a lot of fun. So with my square, one-person-lifestyle being embraced, let me say this:
We share a lot of things. Like time, and space, and hangouts, and mailboxes. So if one were to want to maybe send this dude letters about things without an envelope, y'all should know there's two people getting the mail. And I don't want to be an eavesdropper. So maybe just put your shit in an envelope. Or maybe don't send it? OR send it in code? Your choice. Just maybe respect ours. Sounds good, right?


Dear New York,
I really miss you, New York. You know, I didn't think I would. But, surprise! I do! So we have got to find a way to keep everyone there and talk about how we can involve careers there as much as we can brainless work. Because we all know brainless work can be a real part of living there. And we all know it will kill you quicker than cancer. (And maybe, if for no other reason than it will drive you to get black out drunk and make an unwinning bet with a man who will sell your organs for cab fare or lemonade or a twelve pack of beers and a feelie.) I hope to someday meet on our own terms of being together. Because, New York, I think we should be together, but I think we both know it should never be the way it was. I mean, really, I was pretty horrible. Neither of us ever had a winning time with one another. But we can. So let's work on that. And I'll work my way back east. The boy wants to go to school there. So you have to be ready for us both. And we don't want to live in Staten Island. And if we live in the old neighborhood I would hope you could maybe show me some of that fabled neighborhood feeling I've heard so much about.


Dear Australian Shepherds,
Is there anything that you do wrong? I didn't think so.

Dear Delany,
I miss Tiger Woods Golf, and walks in the park. Let's have a day/night of being equally gay in different ways. I been workin' on my put strut.


Dear Giraffe,
You might be having to work in three hours, but who is looking at you right now? Who will be thinking about your sweet moves in the Am? Uh, this guy. You are the tallest giraffe of them all. The most favoritest.


Dear West Coast Friends,
I moved back here and got so afraid you were gone. Like really. Doing your own thing so much that nobody needed each other anymore. I have come to learn how different we all are now, and I think it's a very special thing. But I think it's special too if we all remember and embrace one another. I might be crazy, but never have I missed you all as much as when I am right here in the same city a you. I wish the people that love each other could be closer....

And maybe I said too much tonight. But we all know how I am: all or nothing. Or a lot of little things with a lot of trepidation.

Right now I love, miss, and believe in everything. So please, all soldiers, let's do that. Here we all are. The question we have to answer is, "what are we going to do about being here?"...