5 Letters. 3 Long-ish, 2 Short.

Dear Apartment G Lease Holder, 


I have a confession. You aren't going to like it. But you aren't particularly complimentary of anything that comes out of my mouth so that's okay. I'm used to it.

This morning, I re-arranged the closet in the bedroom. I'm giving you fair warning, since I know how much you HATE coming home to find I've moved things around. It sends you straight into panic mode. All of a sudden you're SUPER concerned about the status of items you have not worn ONCE in the entire 7 years we've been dating/hating each other.

So for the record, all those items? Are under the bed.

This includes all 5 rain suits.

Love, 

Future Official Occupant of Apartment G
(I had to pay 25 dollars and apply to be an occupant so I can get a parking pass because they're threatening to tow my car.)

*~*~*~*

 Dear Ebay, 

Thank you for the stellar deals on quilts and cardigans. I can't wait for Saturday. I'm going to put on a sundress, pair it with a bright little cardigan, stuff my quilt into the basket on my cruiser bike, and coast on down the cultural trail to a spot by the river. And while I'm there? I'll get day drunk on cheap wine.

Fist pump for fashions and pastimes that never go out of style. And the sales that make it all possible. 

*~*~*~*

Dear Abra, 

Recently you sent Shay, LeAnn, and I an e-mail that included the following statements: 

We need to get serious about this hangout. If we don't make this happen I'm going to suspend my TWB membership until further notice (threat #1). But for real...I 100% need to hangout with people like me before I go crazy.


(Insert relevant stories.)

I. need. to. see. my. people. The end. :)

I love our whorebag bond. I don't think I could describe it any better than the following two quotes:

"In the mind's special processes, a ten-mile run takes far longer than the minutes reported by a grandfather clock. Such time, in fact, hardly exists in the real world; it is all out on the trail somewhere, and you only go back to it when you are out there. He and Mize had been through two solid years of such regular time-warp escapes together. There was something different about that, something beyond friendship; they had a way of transferring pain back and forth, without the banality of words.” (Once a Runner)

There's a closeness about people who run together. We become better friends, better athletes, and better women by the company we keep. As our mileage logs grow, so does our ability to speak the truth to each other, not hesitating when someone is limbo-ing her potential rather than pole-vaulting it. We expect the best for and from each other, yet on any given day feel comfortable enough just as we are. With no makeup, no status, and no B.S. allowed, running purifies friendships. (Unknown)

A TWB reunion is like a homecoming for my soul. In a Sisterhood of the Traveling Sports Bras, kind of way. It doesn't take away from the bond I have with other friends and family, it's just different. We have our own level of understanding. You are my people.

*~*~*~*

Dear Boyfriend, 

I got so tired of you referring to my purse as an abyss, I decided to downsize. I ordered a large wristlet today. It'll be just big enough for my wallet, phone, and lipstick. So next time you're digging around in my personal belongings in search of my phone so you can play games while I'm chauffeuring you to dinner --- I don't want to hear a PEEP. 

Accommodating-ly, 

Girlfriend

*~*~*~*~*

Dear World, 

This month my storytime theme is colors. At the end of each session, I pass out really colorful scarves. Each child gets one, and I get the leftovers. Then we all stand up, scrunch the scarves into a ball, and on the count of three...throw them high in the air and watch them drift down on top of everyone. 

I usually have to throw the scarves for the toddlers. (They haven't quite mastered the art of tossing things in the air yet.) But when I do, they shriek with their whole bodies. They're so overwhelmed with excitement they end up falling down and into each other before the scarves even hit the floor. Then they pick them up, stumble over to me, and drop them in my lap shouting "Gin! Gin!" (Again, Again)

With the older kids, there's usually some initial complaints about not getting the color scarf they wanted. Even though I preface the whole thing with "You get what you get..." to which they always respond in unison "AND YOU DON'T THROW A FIT!" 

Apparently they haven't fully grasped the concept yet. Kind of like how when I ask if there are any questions and they respond with a story about how their dog chewed up their favorite pair of buzz lightyear sneakers.

But in the end, they reach the same pinnacle of enthusiasm as the toddlers. They dive and leap as the scarves hit the ground and then jump back to their feet, scrunch their treasures into a ball, and look toward me.  Breathless. Eyes sparkling in anticipation as they wait for my count.

At these moments, World, I forget how evil and unfair you can be. I'm not worried about terrorism, debt, deficits, healthcare...or any other ridiculously complicated adult problem. 

Instead, I am filled with joy. And gratitude. 

I'll never make a ton of money as a children's librarian. I know that. 

And sometimes I get really sick of getting sick. 

But the rewards of working with children? Are absolutely priceless.