It’s more than just the job. I am relinquishing my auto-pilot ways and my need to work. The responsiblity remains and I admit that my stomach hurts at the thought of the financial burden I am laying upon David. But, I got sick. This place made me ill, so I had to let go. I have heard nothing from Rollins, not a good sign. And that started making me sick too. It’s all this craziness that happens all at once, it stirs up the silt and leaves me unable to navigate the dark waters of the month of March.

Dear Someones,
You won’t tell me the truth, shying away from my gaze. I am not fortuneteller but I know what lies in your future. It’s as I said before, I always know when the evil is done. Don’t think I am that oblivious.
I remember when we used to have honest talks, ones that didn’t involved the fascinating aspects of others lives. Our boring existences, full of work and dreams, were enough to fill the hours. That is gone, and I realized recently it has not been for some time. Why? Are you scared to be honest with me? Is my being so feared/misunderstood/judgmental/bitchy that you hide behind air kisses and the “ideal” of honesty. I have not broken it down for you recently. I know if I do, the door will slam. So, I won’t talk about anything other than pleasantries, but I know. I almost wonder what would be best, losing you in order to show you the truth, or letting you remain the silent liar. I hate being in this position.

Dear Someones,
I don’t know where you stand on things. It’s a push and pull situation. One minute I understand and the next I am defending myself from your assault. Pick a fucking position so I can aim, Jesus! I am told of your glowing words but why do I not hear them myself? I almost don’t believe the second hand speakers, for we know how this institution works. Never tell the person himself or herself, always talk around them.
I think it’s understood that I don’t work that way. But, everyone else does, so I just look like a blathering idiot who lacks tact. Well, maybe I am tactless, but at least you will always know where I stand. You don’t have to guess, you don’t have to assume. I am my own truth and it’s as plain at my labret.

Dear Someones,
I know where to find you, in rotting memory. One of the best things I ever said about you was: you have become greater, and more ferocious in my mind than you ever were in the flesh. True, but I remember the raised hand, the crazed look in your eye. You trashed a basket, and it almost came to blows over CD’s.
The years have inflated my abdomen with spongy flesh; I am not the drug starved skinny person you once knew. Even then I was too big for you. Now I am fat and happy. Yes, I am fat. And yes, I am happy. But your weight demons were not because my belly clung to a little pooch. It was your mirror that reflected the taunted fat kid, not mine. So, I had to deal with your weight demon, and your strange diet, and the marathon exercising. But were you healthy? Nope. You never were, but I hope you will be some day. A spare tire would be healthier for you than the chiseled cheekbones you wore so proudly.

Dear Someones (there are two),
You interest me, with your quiet natures. I am fascinated by how you speak and where you stand on issues close to my heart. For once, it’s not a sexual thing. I don’t want to hump you. I want to know you. It was like life breathed a little fresh air into my social circle.
It makes me happy.

Dear Someones,
November, when leaves should fall, is when we spoke again. I know. I haven’t called. Some things never change. I always mean to do it tomorrow, but tomorrow gets busy or something tragic happens and the phone remains collecting dust in the cradle (yes, my phone is actually dusty). I wonder if you kissed your girl, or stayed within reach of the man that cared for you. I wonder if you would still love me, because my edges are harder. I don’t get angry like I used to, but it remains to haunt me. No getting drunk because I was the 2nd of two Ericas, the one without the consolation prize. (I still think I was much cuter than she was, but he was about as interesting as a door knob)
Things in my life are blissfully boring. I’m in love with a David, a Puck, a Valentine, a house on Nebraska Street, and my school. I’m still fucking crazy, moody, but I can kind of control it. I still wonder what would have been if we had been. I still wonder…. and sometimes…. I even wish…

Dear Me,
You really should stop worrying so much. Embrace the calmer side of your erratic nature and learn to breathe with the flow. Swimming upstream only makes you tired. It was your decision to make, this switching lifestyles. Yes, things will be a little scary, but you have a proper man, a proper house, a proper suit and a proper haircut (although, you do look like your mother). It will work out. You are not a Miami street rat anymore. David will be there to catch you, and together you are going to make this right. It’s okay that you had to leave. Remember, you don’t want scars.
Remember to tell your boy how much you love him. He’s an amazing man and he deserves to know. Remember to tell your best friends how much you love them too, because they too need to know. But also, remember to love yourself (and not that way, you pervert) but you will make it work in the end.

The voices in my head are quiet now.