Dear Phil,

From one Pennsylvanian to another, you're making us look bad.

Hugs, kisses, and a neverending winter,

B

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 Apple,

The reason I got an iPhone in December was for the public transit map information on your Maps app. And now, nine months later, you obliterate it with your own terrible excuse for a Maps app that doesn't even pretend to tell me the bus schedule? Really?

I'm not even kidding: where can I downgrade to the previous iOS so I can actually use the feature I got this phone for in the first place? I have it on good authority that Steve Jobs is ashamed of this whole affair, keeping tabs with his Ways My Company Is Failing Me app from the Great Beyond.

And this is just my personal public transit outcry; I understand that folks who use Maps for driving and other purposes are perhaps less stranded than those of us suddenly left without transit directions, but they're no less outraged at the faulty and downright dumb functionality of this new excuse for a "smart" application.

Okay, okay, barring a downgrade to the previous iOS, where can I get an Android? Yes, Apple. I just went there.

Shame on you,
B

=====
9:35 update: Upon initial investigation, I'm ready to tentatively say HopStop is a valid replacement, as least for the bus schedules, but I'm not sure what will replace the driving problems. Just one more good reason not to invest in a car.

Dear Cat,

I'm sorry I shut you up in my closet this morning so you were trapped in there for 12 hours while I was at work.

In all fairness, though, this is precisely why I yell at you whenever you venture into my closet in the first place. In any case, thanks for not peeing on any of my clothes or dying from the heat.

Hugs & kisses,
B

Dear Bank,

I'm sure that from your perspective it makes comPLETE sense to have no easily findable "report a lost or stolen debit card" option on your website or monthly account statements, but for my part, I can't think of a good reason.

Seriously. Card. Missing. How do I tell you?

I suppose I could send an email, but that feels a little too much like this episode from IT Crowd.

Maybe someday you'll make your emergency number easy to locate. Until then, don't allow any debit charges from my account. Please? Somehow?

Hugs & kisses,
B

Dear Metaphorical Blanket That Has "Don't Get Out of Bed This Morning" Stitched All Round Its Edges,

When my alarm goes off and you immediately descend on me, tucking yourself in around my toes and covering my head with the dark, heavy feeling of foreboding toward the day, why don't I ever listen to you? I have plenty of mornings when I just don't want to get out of bed, but you don't show up on those mornings. The mornings when you wrap me up in fear of the forthcoming day should make me sit up and take notice. "Hey, this morning's going to suck. Maybe I should just let it pass by without me."

But then I ignore you and I log in to work and my computer crashes and my health insurance company calls me and doesn't know where my policy is in its transfer across state lines.

You know something, though? That was just the morning. You just say, "Don't get out of bed this morning." That doesn't refer to the whole day.

Clean laundry, fun students, hilarious creative narrative assignments, a walk in the sunny and dormant botanical garden near my laundromat, and a surprise gift of chocolate-covered pretzels made the afternoon worth living for. So, you smothering old blanket, maybe I should listen to you more often, but then again, maybe I should focus on the distinction of "morning." Some morning's gonna hate. But that doesn't necessarily apply to the whole long day.

Still, I like the clear warning. Please don't stop alerting me when I'm about to enter a foregone forenoon.

Hugs & kisses,
B

Dear 2011,

Congratulations. Despite an improved last few weeks, as a year you managed to be almost as bad as 2008. Good riddance. Maybe the world really will end in 2012 and free us all.

Hugs & kisses,
B

Dear Route 22 between Pittsburgh and Altoona,

You suck. You have sucked for my entire life. You sucked for my dad's entire life. Will you ever stop sucking?

Hugs & kisses,
B