Dear My Hair:
We were doing so well together. What happened? Do you like spending every day in a Time Out Ponytail?
Dear Shameless Raccoon Who Keeps Blatantly Flaunting Your Presence On Our Deck In The Middle Of The Day:
We are not your personal, snack-filled vending machine.
Dear My Pain Meds:
I know we’ve been spending a lot of time together lately. I so appreciate that you are always there for me when I need you.
But could you p-l-e-a-s-e stop trashing my nervous system with your raucous, frat-boy party-like side effects as I wean myself off of you?
Dear My Body:
I am so sorry that I took this pain-free morning as a sign that I could do 30 minutes of high-intensity aerobics, 10 minutes of Dance of Shiva, and then15 minutes raking up cat hair from my office floor.
Sometimes I get being-sick amnesia and then I do stupid things. Sorry about that.
Dear My Mood Cycling, Bipolar, Borderline Personality Disorders:
Dude-seriously: CHILL THE F***OUT ALREADY.
I’ve kind of got a lot on my plate right now.
I mean, did you not read the part about the Raccoon-Slaying, Amnesiac, Exploding Hair Rebellion? Geez.
Work with me here, people.
Dear My Primary Care Physician Of 13 Years Who Retired Last December 31st And Did Not Tell Me About It:
NOT cool dude. Not cool.
Dear My Kindle:
I love you. Please marry me.
Be there in a sec.