Dear The Job,

I know I've written you angry letters in the past, and let's be honest, I will probably continue to do so in the future because I'd rather be a full time artist. That said, I really don't hate you, and in the spirit of Christmas cheer, I wanted to tell you what I like about you. After all, much as I complain sometimes, the fact remains I haven't left you, which in itself is a testament to your not being all bad.

• My coworkers are intelligent, competent, and responsible. I can rely on them to do what they said they'd do, and it's a pleasure to help them out when I can.
• They're also funny. Never underestimate the power of humor.
• The work is challenging. In a bigger sense, I'd rather find my challenge in creative pursuits, but I am glad to have a challenging job right now that's actually teaching me skills that I can apply to those creative pursuits someday.
• You pay me. It's been a year and a half and I'm still beside myself every time I get a paycheck that's over the federal poverty level.
• You do good things. It's kind of a thrill to work for a company that's at the top of its game and plans to stay there. It can add to the stress level, sure, but there's also something incomparable about feelng you're making a difference somewhere.
• You have good food.
• You look cool. The architecture nut in me geeks out about your campus and the design that went into it. Your focus on making function look cool—drains that look like waterfalls; hallways that look like movie sets—delights me when I take a moment to really see it.

So, while I definitely need the vacation that's coming up in two days, and while I'm probably spending between 10 and 13 hours with you today and tomorrow each, I'll come back in January because there are some things I'm really happy about with you.

Merry Christmas,

B

Dear NPR,

I promise there is other news besides Obamacare. I promise HealthCare.gov is not the only thing going on in the world. And I promise there are adjectives besides "disastrous" that apply to the rollout.

Hugs & kisses,

B

Dear 70 Pounds of Kitty Litter I Put in my Trunk This Weekend,

I love you. Yesterday my car wanted to fishtail about a million times, I could tell. The roads 5 inches deep in some places and wheels spinning at stop lights, the drive yesterday was unpleasant. But you, along with my other favorite invention the antilock braking system, made my little car act like a northern native out there. Thanks for weighing down the back and making traction when the other FWDs out there made it clear I needed it.

Hugs & kisses,

B 

Dear Heartland Credit Union,

I've gotta say, your new logo is much better.

Thanks for improving the streets of Madison, one sign at a time.

Hugs & kisses,
B

Dear Madison,

Just one more reason I like you. Sometimes the signs might be wrong, but at least we know how to correct them.

Hugs & kisses,

B

Dear Gradual Adjustment,

Today on my way to work, I was rushed, thinking, "I'm going to be so late. I'm getting in at 8:30!"

Today on my way out of work, I was thinking, "I'm going home early! It's only 6:00!"

It wasn't till later that the real meaning of those sentiments hit me.

Hugs & kisses,

B

Dear 6:00 p.m. The Day Before Returning to Work After a Week of Vacation at the Beach With My Oldest Friends,

You couldn't, like, slow yourself down a little, could you?

Hugs & kisses,
B

Dear Ridiculously Attractive Guy Who Sold Me My New Car on Saturday,

When I walked up to the group of salespeople and you were the one who stepped out to show me around the lot, I nearly turned around and left right then and there. Seriously? I thought. Send the cute guy my age out to sweet talk me into buying a car? I've been studying advertising techniques since the fourth grade; I see exactly what you're doing here. Well, I did buy a car, but you had very little to do with it.

That's not to say I wasn't aware of the fact you kept changing the radio in every car I drove to a good station and started telling me all about your creative pursuits when you found out I'm a writer. Got super excited when you found out we practically share a birthday. Kept asking if I live alone.

And then today I got my mail. Is it normal for salesmen to send thank you notes to their customers? I figure yes, probably. It's good business to follow up with customers and keep the lines of communication open. But is it normal to fill the card with compliments about my being the kind of "intelligent, positive, and fun" person that "makes [your] job fun"?

Not sure about my next steps here, so I'm asking my readers. Am I supposed to drop by the dealership sometime or let it all drop?

Hugs & kisses,
B

Dear Birds in My Neighborhood Who Spend All Day and Night in the Trees That Grow Along the Edge of the Street,

Until I acquired a dark blue car, I never realized how much you poop.

Hugs & kisses,
B

Dear Anonymous Microsoft Technical Writer,

When you wrote this, I have the distinct impression you didn't expect anyone to actually read it. Really? The task list monster? Glorious. Based on this, here's what I perceive about you:

• You majored in English in undergrad.
• You have a perpetually half-finished manuscript.
• You don't have your own office at Microsoft.
• You are doing the work of three people.
• You no longer work at Microsoft.
• You moved in with several housemates to pursue your poetry chapbook.

I wish you well.

Hugs & kisses,

B

Dear Heartland Credit Union,

Your logo says to me, "Come build a Monopoly house on top of a tree where the sun will get it when it consumes the earth in pixels."

No? Not what you were going for?

Hugs & kisses,
B

Dear Inbox,

First, I compared your emails to pounds and was delighted you were losing weight. Then, I said maybe I'd just run away from you, you were getting so out of hand. But today, dear inbox, today I got you down to ZERO.

ZE. RO.

Yes, I did a lot of deleting and archiving instead of responding, but I did do some responding, and I did a lot of reading, watching, and listening to things people had sent me over the past year+. And I did some reorganizing around my clear failings as a correspondent, so hopefully (although it obviously remains to be tested) I can be sure to respond to emails henceforth in a timely (although it's me, so obviously timely ≠ prompt) fashion.

Think we can do it, inbox? I certainly do.

Hugs & kisses,
B

Dear 29 Candles on a Raspberry Trifle,

You looked like you were about to burn the house down. "There's a lot more than 29 on there, right?" I asked my friends as they carried you out of the kitchen.

"Nope!" one said gleefully. (He's 24. Just wait a few years, buddy.)

It was like a scene out of a chick flick. You know the one. Where the single woman with a high-stress job and a cat stares her years in the face while Stevie Nicks sings Landslide soulfully in the background.

And yet, as I blew out your flames reflected like a conflagration in my eyes (no bifocals yet, thankyouverymuch), I couldn't think of anything to wish for. Surrounded by dear friends and fully aware of tons more friends all around the world wishing me well, with a hand-made trifle made with raspberries from my friend's own garden, on a front porch in autumn-like weather without the imminent threat of winter, I could only hope the next 29 years are full of such comfort and contentment as I've heretofore experienced.

Hugs & kisses,
B

Dear Google Maps App,

Ahh!!! You even have cycling directions now too!!!!

You really are amazing.

Hugs & kisses,

B

Dear Yahoo! News,

Well thanks for that newsworthy headline. Here are some others in the same category:

• Oxygen, hydrogen key to sustaining life
• Many employees unhappy with their work
• Despite regulations, threats, some students still perform at average level
• Brick still stronger than straw, sticks

Hugs & kisses,

B

Dear Businesses that Advertise Things Everyday,

Let's talk about that word: everyday. I know that sometimes space is limited on signs, but that's no reason for inaccuracy. Here's a guide:

Everyday (no space): Describes something common and unremarkable.

Example: No matter how much she loves me, my mom probably doesn't want to hear about my teeth-brushing and other everyday events.

Every day (with a space): Describes the frequency with which something happens.

Example: I'm always excited to save $1.00 on coffee when I bring my own mug, even though it happens every day.

So when you advertise your $5 Buck Lunch Everyday, I have to wonder if you meant to say it happens each day or if you think it's not a very remarkable deal.

Hugs & kisses,

B

Dear Dairy Queen's $5 Buck Lunch,

Are you a lunch for male deer, maybe? A saltlick and berries? An extra dollar off if you come in with antlers?

I ask because you're called the Five-dollar buck lunch. Or didn't you realize that the $ means dollars? That is to say, if you have a $, then you don't need the "buck." Either you're trying to get our attention with your incorrectness, or you need to find some more language-savvy folks to contribute to your ad campaign.

Hugs & kisses,

B

Dear Boy,

I'm truly sorry. Forgive the cliché, but I honestly believe you'll find someone better.

Hugs & kisses,

B

Dear Trailblazing,

If you can say one thing about me, it's that I like to do things right. If I'm learning something new, I don't just jump in with both feet; I wade in, slowly, analyzing each step and mentally projecting the future consequences of stepping in this spot instead of that one with each progressive footfall. Once I blaze the trail one time, I'm pretty good at following that same path fearlessly when I come to the same place again, and after a lifetime of blazing well-marked trails, I can appear to outsides to take life pretty confidently.

Until I get to a place that's unfamiliar. Then I have no idea how to proceed, and I'm forced to blaze a new trail. It takes time. It's an agonizing process. I step, I pause, I map out potential next steps, decide how well the previous steps went, how I could or should change or keep going, stop and think, stop and think, step back and reassess. I want to do it right, and without ever seeing this path before, I have no points of reference to get me going. As Sarah Bareilles sang:

I'm already out of foolproof ideas
so don't ask me how to get started.
It's all uncharted.

Uncharted, yes, but not unchartable. And although in this situation there are other people depending on my blazing a fair trail, I think they're patient enough to see where I take it.

Hugs & kisses,
B

Dear Boy,

I don't know when, exactly, my life-as-I-know-it ended and this new life began, but I, for one, have no objections. And after tonight, I think it's safe to say neither do you.

Hugs & kisses,

B

Dear Every Happy Pop Song Ever,

You suddenly all make sense.

Hugs & kisses,
B

Dear Ladies and Gentlemen,

An era is over.

Hugs & kisses & bubbles & rainbows & puppies,
B

Dear Friends,

I don't deserve you. Each day, I wonder what I could have possibly done to earn your friendship, and I can never reach a satisfactory answer. You are supportive, attentive, and in every way wonderful. And you seem to think I deserve your friendship, despite my doubts on that score.

Maybe this is a slight hint of the love we have from Christ. I don't deserve his love, but he really, really wants to give it to me. To all of us. Deep, true love isn't our love for God, but his love for us, sacrificial love with no reason to expect an equal return. He meets us halfway and, when we aren't there, he keeps going the whole way until he reaches us where we are.

Thanks for loving me so much I can start to understand, however slightly, the love of Christ.

Hugs & kisses,
B

Dear Feminine Wiles,

You've been entirely absent most of my life, and I got kind of used to it. Yes, I wanted to think there would be a day I might be attractive, but in reality, never able to imagine a time you'd ever be on, I built up no strategy for turning you off. But it seems I need to learn.

First, it was my one true love on State Street. Last week, it was the man (Bingo, he called himself) on the bus who offered me a seat. On his lap.

And today, it was on my way out of the library. I got a (and I quote), "Damn, girl, you are fine," complete with some kind of wolf whistle. Thank the Lord it's day light in the evenings now.

The thing is, now that you apparently exist, suddenly, after the awkwardness of my teenage years and beyond, I don't know how to handle this type of thing. From behind my eyes, I'm still the acne-speckled, overweight, unstylish girl with split ends, and it's hard to believe that these forthright displays of attraction aren't some kind of joke.

And really, even if that wasn't the case, I'm pretty sure it's uncomfortable for everyone to be wolf-whistled and lap-offered. So while I appreciate the fact you finally decided to exist, you need to chill out when I'm around creepers, okay? Because that's not cool.

Feel free to crank it up, however, around non creepers. That I don't object to.

Hugs & kisses,
B

Dear Google Maps App,

I am so, so, so, so, so grateful for your development. Yes, using HopStop got me by, and if I was okay working with generalities, the Apple maps app did okay, but ever since downloading you, I have felt once again whole in my navigational requirements. Not only do you actually have public transit worked into the app, you list out every stop between the origin and the destination in a handy expand-and-collapsible section. I know I'm geeking out right now in a most decidedly unbecoming way, but after freaking out a few months ago when Apple dropped every kind of navigational ball, I wanted to make public my feelings for you. A few weeks too late, Google Maps App, will you be my Valentine?

Hugs & kisses,
B

Dear J.J. Abrams,

Seriously, dude, you have some major daddy-daughter issues.

Lately, while watching the Alias episodes I missed out on while working in college, all I keep thinking is that you've somehow managed to cover just about every single weird relationship snag between fathers and daughters you possibly could in this show. And it's not just Alias. I remember back when I watched Heroes the straaa-aaaa-aaange things you wrote for HRG to do in his dysfunctional protection of his daughter the cheerleader. Not only do you cover hatred, but you also manage to throw in a strong dose of protective idolatry, too.

Do you have a daughter? Did she turn out okay? And no, I've never watched Lost, but I suspect you've managed to write in some chosen-girl prophecy to that one, too, complete with a trigger-happy daddy ready to do anything to protect his baby.

Ooh, ooh, new drinking game: a shot for every person who gets shot on this show. Never mind. I like my liver too much.

Hugs & kisses,
B

Dear Vienna,

Slow down, you crazy child
you're so ambitious for a juvenile
But then if you're so smart, tell me
Why are you still so afraid?

Where's the fire, what's the hurry about?
You'd better cool it off before you burn it out
You've got so much to do and
Only so many hours in a day

But you know that when the truth is told
That you can get what you want or you can just get old
You're gonna kick off before you even get halfway through
When will you realize?
Vienna waits for you.

Slow down, you're doing fine
You can't be everything you want to be before your time
Although it's so romantic on the borderline tonight
Tonight

Too bad but it's the life you lead
you're so ahead of yourself that you forgot what you need
Though you can see when you're wrong, you know
You can't always see when you're right
You're right.

You've got your passion, you've got your pride
but don't you know that only fools are satisfied?
Dream on, but don't imagine they'll all come true
When will you realize?
Vienna waits for you.

Slow down, you crazy child
and take the phone off the hook and disappear for awhile
it's all right, you can afford to lose a day or two
When will you realize?
Vienna waits for you.

And you know that when the truth is told
That you can get what you want or you can just get old
You're gonna kick off before you even get halfway through
When will you realize?
Vienna waits for you.

Hugs & kisses,
B

P.S. Thanks, Billy Joel, for getting it so right.

Dear Baron Julian Fellowes,

That's it. I'm done. Through. Over.

I know I said this at the end of last season, but for real, I mean it this time. To keep my letters spoiler-free, I'll refrain from saying any more, but after that headlining episode mid-season, I wondered if the only reason I stayed tuned might be because I had friends coming over to watch it every week.

Now, after what you've done tonight, I have to tell you the shaky ground we've been on all season has officially crumbled beneath our feet. There's no turning back. And if I weren't so tired, I could say this with fewer clichés. Not that you seem to mind them, yourself.

Nice job with the artsy landscape shots of the Highlands. I will say that. But not Rose nor Sybbie nor the miracle of Mary's 25-inch waistline at 8 months gestation will draw me in next January.

Hugs & kisses,
B

Dear Large Corporation That Hired Me Last June,

I've made it eight months, and I count that as a victory miracle blackout ... well, it's something. Probably mostly a sign of my impending insanity.

Thanks for paying me. It's really nice to buy a DVD without worrying about what meal I'll have to skip so I can afford it, and it's really rather awesome seeing my savings account grow instead of shrink for the first time in five years. When I bought my new peacoat on sale for 80% off, it was a pleasant surprise at the checkout, not a necessary reduction so I could also pay rent. It's good being financially sound.

All I'm saying is, I don't really like these 9- and 10-hour workdays that are starting to become regular. I don't like that I come home at 7:30, too tired to eat dinner let alone make it, shower, collapse in bed, and wake up a few hours later to start it all over again. I don't like that I can project a 57-hour workweek and my boss doesn't say, "That's too much," but instead says, "So, things are going well?" I don't like sitting at my desk, dizzy from exhaustion, ready to cry, and knowing it's only Monday afternoon. And I don't like writing about software.

(There. I said it.)

I'm still confused what you, a corporation that hires only 1% of applicants and recruits heavily from Ivy schools, saw in my application and interview, why you decided I would be a good fit. But even more so, I'm confused why you're the only place I applied to that even gave me an interview, much less an offer. I've made it eight months, and after four more, maybe that full year of experience on my résumé will give me whatever it is I need to move on, move out, and move away from the "hyper competitive and quasi abusive" work environment you've developed to separate the career-focused all stars from the 9-to-5ers who have already chosen their career and need only a means of paying for it. All I'm asking is for a 40-hour workweek. I haven't had one of those since 2008.

In other news, I'm getting my first creative piece published in a recognized journal. It is, in fact, the only thing keeping me going each day, this little secret I'll never really tell you about, the deep-down, this-is-who-I-really-am nugget of creativity. My real career.

Insincere hugs & kisses,
B

Dear Guitars,

I love you so utterly deeply that it's almost embarrassing. Last night, listening to one of your brethren in the expert hands of my string-strumming friend, I was transported.

Life, for a short time, seemed incomprehensibly good.

As Shakespeare once wrote, how is it that sheep's guts can hail the souls from men's bodies? And while I know that my friend's guitar is strung with steel, the sentiment is the same. He plucked, and he strummed, and he played his fingers across the frets, and I was truly happy.

You are a gift straight from God, and I am so thankful for friends who can play you well.

Hugs & kisses,
B

Dear Inbox,

Remember the days when I used to actually respond to email messages? Remember when I compared emails to pounds and helped you lose weight? I was proud of myself then, but things have changed.

As I type, you have 349 messages, with more certain to come. Now, I'm not of the type who leaves all messages ever in the inbox. No, I leave them there because there's something I need to do about them. Like respond. Or put something on my calendar.

I think maybe your state is indicative of a deeper problem.

Lately, I've felt myself ... I'll say getting lazy, although I don't think that's quite it. I'm tired, my dear inbox, tired especially of being on top of things. I've been on top of things all my life, keeping organized homework lists as early as elementary school and writing down all of my extracurricular activities on a calendar so I knew where I had to be when. I remembered things and did everything right and never let the ball drop. I was reliable. It's how I succeeded and looked good and got accepted to every school I applied to.

But now I'm tired of it. I'm tired of fitting myself into others' schedules: public buses, work hours, work projects, and so on. I'm tired of structuring everything so perfectly that even my unstructured time is structured. I'm tired of fitting my life into boxes and slots of calendar pages, email responses, timetables, résumés, and spreadsheets.

I'll get over it. I'll get back on top of things someday. But I have a feeling that as long as you're around, my inbox, I'll always have the pressure of responsibility, of tasks left undone, of falling short of expectations and letting people down.

Maybe it's that I'm playing the part of the career woman I was never meant to be, and the confusion between should and is has muddled other areas of my life as well. But whatever it is, dear inbox, if I abandon you for good someday, know it's not your fault, nor the fault of the people whose kind, loving, and often encouraging words fill you up. It's just that, by then, maybe I'll have grown up enough to accept that it's finally time to run away.

Hugs & kisses,
B