letter to myself

Dear Me, I made a jackass out of myself tonight. I couldn’t stop it. The second I saw Stacy, I sprouted big donkey ears and a tail. I don’t know why she gets under my skin. Why should I care what she thinks of me? She’ll be gone right along with Jason when Alana gets bored. Alana’s lasagna was terrible. No one noticed that I was slipping the harder pieces of it into my salad bowl and hiding them under the lettuce. It’s a good thing they don’t have a dog because if it was to eat the scraps, it would surely die. Jason and Stacy are going to be shitting pasta shards. I feel sorry for Jason, not so much for Stacy. I’ll have to patch things up with Alana, so this may not be the right time to tell her that her cooking is lethal. She was pissed when I left her house. I’m sure she’ll tell Mom and Grammy I was a jerk. Jason was probably mad at me too. I feel a little bad about that. Me

— Robin Alexander

Dear Me, Talk about getting the wind knocked out of your sails when your best friend tells you’re turning into a grumpy hermit. She told me that at breakfast today, and I was in denial until I talked to Chase, that little fucker. I made myself happy by soaking his ass five times before lunch. I did some soul-searching, and I don’t think I’m depressed, but I do think I’m becoming too comfortable being by myself. Furthermore, I’m really beginning to enjoy the company of cats more than people, and that’s probably not a good thing. Sprout and Ginger are so cute right now. Ginger’s cleaning Sprout’s head, and he’s smiling. Sometimes he’ll…yeah, I really need to get out more. I think life would be simpler if people acted more like cats. Like if someone is prattling on about something I don’t care about, and I pop them in the forehead, they’d understand walking away just like a cat does. A simple hiss conveys so much. I will attempt to gradually release myself back into a social environment. Me

— Robin Alexander