Monday, June 29, 2009

Dear David,

Oh shit, DB. I feel like I'm dying every minute behind my desk job not doing jack and making more money not doing jack than most high school teachers or cops make in my hometown praying for lunchtime to come around as a mile marker for a two mile crawl.

You school won't make it right for you. I fear it'll make things worse, actually. You're going to have to cram SO MUCH JUNK in your head to max capacity and purge that junk--with no room to exercise your creative muscles, and once you make those A's, which I know you'll relentlessly score, your integrity might get slaughtered for the sake of some cheesy dime, and then what will you do? By then your heart will have the mange, and you'll try to find peace in being some little league coach and Maggie and Joe will come over for dinner every Friday night and hopefully I won't be too long distance away when you're in your hand-made bomb shelter sipping bourbon, so you can call and say: what happened? I'm old now and my knees hurt. And I'll say: Bring your knees to me and I'll kick your knees, you ass.

ps. I mean that with much love, DB. The most even

pps. I'm not trying to make it worse, I just want you to think about what would make you happy--let's say utilitarianism is a dirty whore we found blowing P-Diddy at Piggly Wiggly. I want you to be happy, and I know you were raised too conservative to let yourself become full blown bohemian, though you've got a romantic bohemian heart aching to sing songs under a cherub perched tree & all that, and there's nothing wrong with being an adult and being responsible--you know, I think, speaking of pacing, you're just tired from taking on too much this last semester; it'll get better. You're a baddass professor, I'm sure of it. I mean, you've been teaching me and you've barely even tried.


pppps. You haven't been pacing yourself properly and you're burning yourself out, maybe.

ppppps. I think law school's going to be another bumrushfeast. Are you trying to age prematurely? Is that your masochism? Seriously...


Tammy said...

This delighted me. But I must know - I know it shouldn't matter - but does David exist? Is he real?

If not, I congratulate your imagination. If he does, I congratulate your balls. And your pussy. I congratulate all of these three things. Your imaginaryballs and your pussy named 'Toots', but not 'Toots' like a trumpet, but like Dustin Hoffman. Have you been to the four word film review website? The review for 'Tootsie' is 'Hoff man, Hoff woman.'


Anyway, this is a very non-linear response. I like this blog!

Sabra Embury said...

I'd like to say a little David exists in all of us, but then that would imply that David really gets around if you know what I mean? *wink wink

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