Tuesday February 13th 2007, 10:03 pm
Filed under: All Letters,Love Letters

To old thoughts and to unknown futures,

Yesterday you called me inquiring about the quality of my road trip to Los Angeles. The lethargic tone in your voice could have meant one of two things: you didn’t actually care about the question you posed and therefore didn’t care for the response I was going to give you; or you were too tired to put any effort into your question like a decent conversationalist. The latter seemed too straightforward for my imagination. However, it turns out from your banal attitude, it was the correct reason for your apathy. You bore me to tears, dear wife. Your mundane stories of your work and social life make me wonder just how honest you’re being with me. No one’s life is as boring as you make your life seem. I wish you could be honest with me concerning what’s going on in your life. At least then there is the chance that I could be emotionally stimulated by your voice. I’d rather love or hate you, than to feel empty boredom with you. Yet, I am a hypocrite. When I speak to you, I don’t tell you about the exciting things that are happening in my life. Yesterday I had every opportunity to cut off your unexcited stories and let you know of my plans to go to Phoenix to meet a new girl who I have been speaking to for the past two months; I could have told you about the grass I smoked the other night with my friends; I could have even told you about my drunken alcohol binge which has yet to cease. (Speaking of these exciting yet atrocious activities makes my head swell with pressure and stress.) I could mention all the thoughts of suicide I had in the past week, or maybe I could have told you about how sexy I think my new roommate is. But these “could have” statements only bring us further from actual conversation. With every “could have” there is an equal statement “did not.” Therefore I will move on from hypothetical analogies, and tell you about my current standings. I am in the Bob Hope Airport, waiting for my flight to arrive. I am going to Phoenix tonight to meet Morgan. I have no expectations for this adventure. Getting out of California will be nice, however I hear the weather in AZ is 112° every day. I hope I don’t melt like an otter pop out of the freezer. The airport in Los Angeles is full of beautiful people, physically that is. However, most can’t hold a conversation longer than they can hold a crying baby, which brings their beauty ratings plummeting to the ground. And speaking of plummeting, today in the news there was an explosion that destroyed a subway system in London, killing 37 people and wounding 700. Al-Queida claimed responsibility for the attacks. It’s always exciting to take sick pleasure in the pain and suffering of innocent victims across the globe. I have a prurient desire for such happenings. I think you do too, you sick individual. You use to peruse www.rotten.com all the time before I met you. I always thought that being a vet tech was a way for you to experience bloody carcasses as a socially acceptable profession. Come on, admit it! You like to see blood and guts. Hell, you were a mortician for a while. Only the sickest of the sick become morticians. Though I digress. My plane is here and they are currently boarding. I always touch the outside of the plane as I pass from the throughway and step onto the plane. It’s a superstition I have. I actually loathe flying. It makes me nervous.

-A nervous boy.

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