I’m writing you to tell that I don’t have time to write to you. I love you and you haven’t done anything wrong and I wish I had time to write to you and tell you lots of funny, pithy or rambling things but instead I will tell you why I cannot do that:
1. It’s MONDAY and really, you’ve got to be kidding me. It’s like negative 50 degrees here and so cold my mom suggested I put on Uggs this morning. I didn’t, but REALLY. I mean, really. This is just too much to handle. Really. I’m basically Garfield right now.
2. I have to read a book for a book club and it’s 246 pages and has so many characters they give you a character index and I haven’t started it. For TOMORROW.
I agreed because I’m trying to socialize myself like a proper human being.
3. I need some new pants, and there’s nothing like spending a rainy day in a cold dressing room half-undressed while a strange woman pokes her head in and out the door. Infinitely preferable to doing work, obvs, and yes telling you people my every thought is work gawd what do you people think I do, sit around and watch Buffy all day and read the comics and pet the dog and occasionally think about clever bon mots but mostly they’re puns? (Yes.) (At least I’m not buying bras.) (I’m working on being an optimist, how am I doing.)
PS: A gift for you, just a small thing I got, some of you have probably seen it, it’s only my favorite thing ever, no big deal, you can thank me later for making your life infinitely better: