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 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 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 That Sense of Rightness and Justice in This World,

Just want to say thanks. Overall, the world does not meet any of our standards for perfection, to the point that many of us give up on the hope that there must be something better out there. But sometimes, you show your face again, just for a moment, just a small glimpse, and remind those of us still watching and waiting for Better that it really does exist and is worth living for.

When two puzzle pieces finally admit they fit together perfectly, when after months of prayer I get to see two of my favorite people come together, it's nothing short of a relief. The Hebrew word shalom means peace, perfection, unity, and completion, the resolving major chord at the end of a cacophonous symphony. If such a small-scale event can bring such relief, I can only imagine what it will be like when you finally reclaim all of creation. No more pain, no more hurricanes, no more loneliness or barriers to love. May we all live and work and hope for the Better that lies beneath the surface.

Hugs & kisses,
B

Dear Logic,

I appreciate your efforts, I really do. But sometimes, no matter how much you present the reasonable side of things, it just won't make my emotions budge. I'll stay angry, depressed, bored, or ecstatic whether it's at all logical or not. The past week has been logically awesome, but my emotions can't seem to keep up. Don't stop trying to reason me back over to normal, but please don't expect me to always make sense. Sometimes I just only have it in me to be a Marianne Dashwood, rather than her sensible sister Elinor.

Hugs & kisses,
B

Dear 30-Second Segment of a Conversation on Monday,

For how brief you were, you made me sad and got me thinking for the subsequent 48 hours. Change, relocation, and answers to prayer: all of this was wrapped up in a short side comment as part of a larger conversation. I have what I want, and you, oh short little sentence, informed me that an old, fervent prayer for someone else has been answered. And even as I thank God for that answer, I'm realizing that I have to come to grips with the fact that just because God answers prayers we make for someone else, that doesn't necessarily mean we ourselves get to benefit from those blessings.

You showed me that God is good, and that I still have a lot of growing up to do.

Hugs & kisses,

B

Dear Landlord, Landlady, God, and Timing,

Thank you so much for deciding to let me stay here. I didn't want to sound petulant and childish, but the idea of moving this fall—for the fifth time in six years—made me want to cry. It, in fact, did make me cry. Especially after seeing some of the apartments available elsewhere in the city within this price range, I couldn't bear the idea of leaving my garret, this neighborhood, or your family. From the bottom of my heart, thank you.

Hugs & kisses,
B

Dear Large Corporation That Told Me After My Phone Interview Last Monday That You'd Let Me Know Your Decision Within The Week,

Last I checked, a week was only seven days long. But you know what? It's okay. No really. I didn't want to hear back from you by today or anything. I'm not trying to plan my life or answer questions that require knowing whether I'm going to have a job this summer or not. It's cool. Take your time. After all, I've spent most of the past two years being led on in one way or another; goodness knows I can handle a few days more.

Hugs & kisses,
B

Dear Movers,

I know I'm not the only person in the world who's moving, but it is January. So I have to wonder why you decided to take my stuff out of my house on Friday, hold it in your storehouse for four days, and not even leave the state until yesterday. If you had left the day you took my things, you could have made it here and back before the midwest snowstorm. But no, you decided to wait until yesterday to start the drive. Now you're shooting for a January 16th arrival. Do you realize what this means?

• 5 more days without a bed.
• 5 more days without a bedspread.
• 5 more days with only 4 outfits.
• 5 more days without pots and pans.
• 5 more days without my kitchen table.
• 5 more days without my shower curtain.

A blizzard would have been a great time to unpack all my boxes. Instead, you'll be holed up in a motel 200 miles from home, and I'll be stuck in an unfurnished apartment for another five days.

Watch for black ice, and stay warm.

Hugs & kisses,
B

Dear 2012,

Please don't suck.

Hugs & kisses,
B

Dear Best Buy and Bank of America,

Thank you for collectively making it possible for me to acquire an iPhone this week. The cash for credit card points I've accumulated over the past five years will pay for my new data plan for the next two years, and the new iPhone 4S made all the older GS3s free at Best Buy.

My favorite part of having an iPhone this week is the free classic literature on the iBooks App. With all my books packed up and ready to move, it's nice to have Sense and Sensibility to curl up with after a long day of crumpled newspapers and packing tape.

Hugs & kisses,
B

Dear Christmas Carols,

Now.

Hugs & kisses,
B