2005-05-19 - 9:08 a.m.

I can feel Summer coming... I can feel Saturday afternoon naps with all the windows open fading in and out of slumber to the soothingly inane sounds of passing cars and neighborhood gossip. I can hardly contain myself! Of course, it's barely broken 60 degrees this week... but I can still feel it! Summer has made my short list, so I'll get to it real soon!

It rained briefly yesterday and it almost looked like it was snowing. It reminded me of listening to Julie Doiron during a snowstorm in my house with the heat turned all the way up and oddly enough it was a wonderful memory to have as Summer approaches.

Anyway, I decided today would be a good day for an unset letter to Kettle:

Dear Kettle,

It must be so annoying to hear your own voice every time you test our IVR system saying "Hello and welcome to the meeting place!" in the same tone everyday as if you were frozen in a moment of time repeated over and over.

I walked by your cube yesterday and saw your cigarettes jutting out of your jacket and all I could think was how good one would taste right about now. I wonder if I will ever be free of the urge to smoke. It's been 3 years and 5 months since I've had a cigarette and I still crave them. They are extra tasty looking today because I could take one and you wouldn't notice and I would have the thrill of stealing one. Yes, my soul is perverse. But God's law is perfect, converting the soul, so I know the joy of not stealing is more than the joy of giving in to my perverted nature.

A few weeks ago you mentioned that you didn't remember us working together at the newsstand and that hurt me for some odd reason. We only overlapped there for a month or two and you usually worked the morning and I usually worked the evenings so we'd never be there at the same time except for a couple hours a week, but I find it odd that I remembered you and not the other way around. I've always imagined myself to be memorable, but maybe this is another illusion of which I must let go.

I used to hate you. Now I see I was a pot calling a kettle black. Sorry!

Love, in Obscurity,


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