Dear K,

Today is Thanksgiving.

I'm thankful for so many things. I'm thankful for our long friendship. I'm thankful for: trees, and birds, and sunshine, and old romantic wounds that don't heal. I'm thankful for patterns, and repetition, and things that don't seem real. I'm thankful for wine, and books, and unending minuscule fantasies (wherein I pretend to live a life I love, doing things I love to do when I'm just moving forward doing something I don't want to be doing). I'm thankful for health. I'm thankful for my family. I'm thankful to be from a place with clean air and green fields.

I'm going to overcome myself. I'm going to move around my internal blocks. I'm going to pour myself out like never before. I'm going to finish this fucking book if it kills me. I'm going to win. I'm going to conquer the city of Chicago. I'm going to stop doing things I don't want to do for people and companies I don't like, and I'm going to do it on my terms. I'm good enough. I'm smart enough, and doggone it people like me.


I hope you're having a happy holiday.

I've been having some rough living lately, but as you can tell it has only made me more determined.

Hope.
Fight.
Live.

Yours,

K.

Dear K,

My dad tells me something wise about times like this: "Live your life well" he says. If you live your life well then you can help other people, and that's part of living your life well. This man, he says, this man wants us to believe that people want to destroy us, that everything is broken, that our lives are bad. If we live our lives well he loses. Don't budge. Don't back down. Live well. Have hope. Have life. Have light. Stay firm. Stay strong, stay open. Stay safe.

Resolute,

K

jak to dopadne

dear k-

i am lost. what just happened? where am i?
don't let it touch you. if it doesn't touch us it can't hurt us.
i don't want to speak it aloud, because speaking aloud makes it real. i will not acknowledge it; i refuse to acknowledge it. is this the state of things? is this what is left?

what now? i can't even pick up the pieces because they aren't there. it all evaporated into air like a fickle phantom, never fully grasped and just taunting me with its shape and feel. i could feel it in my bones. and now it's gone and it's been replaced by filth and bile and poison and i feel sick sick sick and i want to hide. like chanie wenjack, i just want to start walking and i'll never stop. i'll die alone in the cold on an unfamiliar path but i know i can't stop. this is not my country. these are not my people.

sometimes i wish people had to pass a history test in order to vote in national elections.

perhaps i'll become an emigre, like in the old days, and sit abroad drinking absinthe and writing and thinking about the homeland and the people i left behind. will other countries take sympathy when i turn up at their border, and welcome me in with a sad and knowing nod of pity?

i can't even talk to people today. which is hard when that's basically my job. which is better one or two, one or two, one or two...the answer is irrelevant anymore. i don't care.

tell me what to do,
-k

Dear K,

Do you ever get mists in the morning? The kind that dissipate in full sun, but hug and skirt the ground, cloaking familiar in unfamiliarity. Making old seem strange? We get those mists here sometimes.

Until about six hours ago I would have told you things are going very well for me.

Now, I feel cut off and alone. I feel disconnected. I don't know anyone in this city. I'm lonely. I'm uncertain about the future. I'm scared. I'm sick of people only looking out for themselves. I miss my little river town where nothing ever happens.

I wish I had someone to sleep with. I wish I could wake up next to somebody. Report in with them. Tell them about my day. Rub their back and hear about theirs.

I don't like anybody I meet. I don't meet anybody I like. I don't meet anybody. I hate online dating. My hope reserves are exhausted.

I'll be better soon.

Someday,
K