Dear Miss Suck It,

I kid.

Although, the name does give me quite a chuckle. Thank you to a certain good friend of mine for starting my morning right, even if he wasn’t aware of all of that nickname’s connotations.

—–

Recently, I have almost cheated on David in my dreams.

Not quite. I kissed someone else, and I somehow ended up topless with another man. Separate dreams.

But I always stop myself before anything more happens. The dreams always come to a sudden halt when I think of David, and then they dissolve.

I wake up more amused than anything else, then I poke David and tell him about it.

Wait a tick while I get more coffee.

Ah, there is nothing quite like hot coffee on a crisp, rainy day. The sun was poking (poking, not peeking) out earlier, but it disappeared rather quickly. And I misplaced my gloves. It is driving me bonkers.

—–

It is about time I stand on a chair again, or perhaps even a dining table this go-round, to peer out, to squint things into focus. I believe I’ve been overlooking the grand picture, even though I’ve always taken pride in my ability to translate the minute details of life into a meaningful scheme.

Damn, that hardly makes sense.

Often I worry that I will perpetually be a teenager, lacking definition and any real substance. I may never be the sum of my parts.

My everyday life is decisive though. I drink coffee, I read, I eat, I sleep. Each day turns into the next without any real difficulties. The present unfolds as it will.

And yet I find the near distant-future (that is what I mean) to be so untrustworthy. I think about it often, and worry about it, even though I am fully aware it will come without any pressing from me.

Now, to what extent can I shape my future?

To be frank, I don’t really care. Sometimes I am quite certain that most of my dissatisfaction with my life stems from attempting to reconcile my true desires with the reality of society. Sadly, I know I am not bold enough to reject the way things are, and I am definitely not intrepid enough to blaze my own trails. I clearly have to suck it up.

Last week, Nancy said something that perturbed me. I was expressing my acute malaise and she cut me off.

“There isn’t much room for surprises because of all the planning that we do.”

Something to that effect. It made me awfully sad, but I understand the bit of truth in the statement. I want to proclaim, “NUTS to that shit,” but I can’t. I really can’t.

Life is structured.

Regardless, I see this in my future:


Maybe I’ll be like my mother and attempt to marry rich. All of my days will then be spent reading and ballooning from coffee mochi ice cream and madeleine cookies (not mother’s characteristics, but in addition to being a gold-digger, she is ridiculously vain). Sometimes I will supervise the renovation of the house to turn it into a giant nook-and-cranny library.

Ah, dreams.

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