Dear Bridget, It Loves Company

Dear Bridget,

Misery, that is. Misery loves company. Januaries love company. I thought last January was a doozy. I remember it clear as day, and this one is also a January for the books. My mother said that she never has had a good January and I reckon it’s hereditary.

Want another snack? Share it with a friend, you feel less bad about eating a whole bag of chips instead of half of one. Company. Want another drink? Pour your friend another glass of wine when you pour your own. Company. Having a bad day? Call your friend who is sitting in traffic while you are laying on the floor with your pants unzipped because you didn’t have the energy to put yourself back together after going to the bathroom when you got home from sitting in traffic yourself. Company. We all love company. January is cold, it’s miserable, we love company. So let’s all go buy some Vitamin D gummies like my mom is encouraging me to do and give each other some company. Let’s all be each others’ safety blankets, there’s nothing wrong with it. We’re company.

I had a birthday. I went to some parties. New years happened on both sides of the coast; where I am, and where you are. I bought a planner, something I think about doing every year, but then I remember how I quit using these planners that I buy by mid January. Waste of paper. But I’ve made two solid plans with two different people, and sent some emails since I wrote all of these things down in my planner, so maybe it’s helping.

Let’s just get rid of all the shirts we don’t like, and all the people we don’t care for, and all the habits we regret. Let’s spend February-December eating late night snacks without regret and reading poems that are good and reveling in the notion of being alive and remembering that we aren’t accountants. Let’s never lose our poetry, always keep our balance, and when we lose our balance fall onto someone who is happy to catch us. Let’s lose the bitterness we still have about never getting a trampoline for christmas, remember how much we love our mothers, and keep tasty snacks in our cars to give away to homeless men. Let’s spend time shedding a few tears over the children’s books in Barnes and Nobles because we’ll never get our first time reading Blueberries for Sal back.

Januaries are shitty, but it’s February soon. And after February comes March, and in March it starts getting warmer. I’m sorry about your squished car. I still regret it, and I miss the recreational tums.

I want to eat sushi at midnight with a beer with you soon. Will you pick me up at the air port?

Toodles. I love you more than the full moon that I followed around last night.


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