On the 8 to 5.

Work is work. I really don't want to do this forever. Sure, no one really likes their job. I want to own my own business and set my own hours and spend my days making beautiful crafty and arty things. My boss is a twat. Seriously. He's a silver spoon in the mouth mamma's boy who has no grace or decency. At least I'm putting my college degree to work, but in all honesty, college was a little over-rated itself. And so is this line of work. I just keep reminding myself that this job will fund all of the other amazing things I want to do. {back to work}

On Trust.

I think it takes a great deal of faith to tell someone you trust them.

I think it takes a great deal of courage to mean it.

I'm trying to mean it, because I think you deserve it. I'm just hoping I don't regret that decision later. I can only imagine this is what jumping out of a plane feels like - hoping your parachute will open.

The Promise.

Dear Boyfriend,

I've never felt this way about anyone before. It's been 11 months and I look forward to living with you one day, and hopefully spending the rest of my life with you. Yeah, I'll take it one day at a time, because we're young and there's no reason to rush it. I've got high hopes for us, and I really can't wait to see where it goes in the future. It's a miracle that I've actually liked anyone this much - especially to the extent that I love you. I'm in it for the long haul. No, we don't need vows or rings or anything for a while, just having you near me everyday is everything I could have wanted.

Love,

Jane.

Right now...

I have to fart.

And J_____, you're the laziest kind of friend. I'm not planning my evening around you tonight.

The Love Letter

Dear _______ ,

I haven't heard from you in weeks and it's sent me into somewhat of a tailspin. I don't know why I'm having these kinds of feelings for you again, but I don't think they'll ever completely go away. I've been very happy being "just friends" with you for a while now, and I don't want anything more than that, but every now and then it creeps back into my mind.

You've disappeared and now it's all I can think about, losing you. I'm very happy that you've found someone who you can be with, and of course, I'm sorry that it could have never been me. I couldn't be happier with the man in my life now, but sometimes I have to try not to compare. I really hope you're giving her your all, because she deserves it. But just because you have a girlfriend isn't an excuse for blowing me off. The worst part about it is, whenever you refuse to return a phone call or an e-mail or make any kind of time for me, it's me who feels like the fool. Foolish for thinking even our friendship was something important. Foolish for thinking that you cared about me half as much as I care about you.

I'm probably just getting carried away, and I know how you hate dramatics. So for now I'll back off and leave you alone. Part of me worries that I won't hear from you again for a long time, and if that's what happens then know I'll miss you everyday. But I can't chase you and I can't try to win your favour; I can't hurt myself like that anymore. I hope one day we see eye to eye - or that I'll be able to walk away without turning back.

All My Wasted Love,
Jane

"And if it gets too late for you to find you love me, and tell me so - it's okay, you don't need to say it."

Let's Be Honest.

Just for a minute. You see, the way socitety is structured there are some things you just can't say. It's not polite or it's offensive to someone or it's unethical. There are also some things you won't ever say because of the emotional ramifications. So what to do? Sometimes you keep your mouth shut in an attempt to keep the status quo. Sometimes you write one of those angry (or sappy) letters that you never send, just to get it off your chest. Maybe you're keeping a secret that would be really harmful if it got out, but you don't feel like carrying it around alone.

Here on the internet there shines a glimmer of hope. That vast despository of useless information that is both broadcast around the world, and also lost in a digital forest. Some people mail their postcards to a publisher. Some people paint their identities with spray paint on the side of empty boxcars. Some people confess. I will blog.

These are my love letters. My quiet thoughts. My secrets.