Woe is me. // Shutter To Think

To Patrick as he packs up more boxes on this frigid February day...

Last week, Patrick posted an old Polaroid of me for Shutter To Think. So, here is my response.

Patrick, I remember that shirt was really cheap (like maybe $5), and that sweater was always too warm, and that day was really fun. I remember always smelling of coffee grounds and having brown stains on all of my shoes from espresso. As my pal, Molly, would say: "I can remember lots of things."

You, my friend, have your flaws. You are stubborn even though sometimes your logic is crazy skewed,  it can be really difficult to get you to come outside and play sometimes, and you refuse to read or watch HARRY POTTER. However, let's get this straight: you are NOT a hard person to be friends with. 

You are one of my all-time favorite persons to be friends with. Top 3 material.

I have my flaws, too. I let money hold me back from doing a lot of things (like traveling), I'm argumentative, and I can act like a know-it-all-butt about records, movies, and dogs. And here's why you are great person to be friends with: it's OK. It's OK that I do all of these things and have my baggage and act like a butt. You know who I used to be, and you know who I am now, and you know who I aspire to be, and it's all OK.

It's pretty rare to find people where all of those things are OK. No seething, no passive aggressive garbage, no resentment, no worrying about it, and hey, we don't have to be 100% best friends 4-ever on every little thing. It's cool.

And that's why, when you left Violet here with me to go apartment hunting in California, we sat around the house making sad faces at each other (see top photo).

I'm really super happy for you and this new adventure, and I can't wait to see all of the photos you will take and hear about your new friends and how you've grown to love coffee with a dash of wood shavings and all the AMAZING fruit trees fruit so good fruit trees. And I know about Skype and Google Hangouts and snail-mail and email. But, I still get to be a big baby and say "It's not the same."

It's not the same, and I'm gonna smoosh my nose up on the ottoman and feel bad for myself when you leave. And I'm going to increase the intervals between pizza deliveries until you just can't take it anymore and have to move back home. Home is Where the Pizza is. I know it, and I am not afraid to exploit it.