Dear X:

This message contains feedback for:

This feedback was sent by: Anonymous

Comments:

please write massage stories.

I'm not sure whst you mean by that. The characters I write about would rather fuck than massage each other, although that is sometimes part of the foreplay.

Warning: Full of vulgar anger....

Dear IBM,

I FUCKING HATE YOU! Why? Why you may ask? Because you're laying people off again, AGAIN and why does this bother me? Because I can't have the job that I wanted thanks to you fuckheads. My dream job is working with kids, I love it it's when I'm happiest. Yes I kknow I will never make six figures doing this but you know what everyone has something they long for. That's mine k? So I'm lined up for this super job as a TEACHER for toddlers, that's totally badass! The kids loved me, I loved the kids it was an instant bond. Well thanks to you dickhead corporate fucks I can't have that! Assholes. Because 70% of the parents that bring their children to this child center work for IBM next door (IBM commissioned this place be open for their employees but it is open to the public as well, but IBMer's get a wicked good discount). Now I know I'm being selfish because now these parents don't have a job but neither do I and I feel like being selfish right now.

THERES HOPE director lady says to me today, because in a few months their numbers go back up! But what's this? You're not 100% sure I can have it? Why? LAYOFFS BY IBM. Gee... so now I have this job I've always wanted dangling like a carrot on a string in front of me. It's MOCKING me cause those BIG WIG PUSSYS feel the urge to cut spending by laying off people. MUST BE SO HARD FOR YOU WHEN YOUR JOB ISNT BEING EFFECTED! Talk about downward trickle effect....

GAAAAAAH FUCK FUCK FUCK. I need a shot of SoCo and Lime NOW

-Disgruntled not employed person

Dear Third Year Rep. of Biochem Society,

No, I cannot "try" to convince the Dean to grand you more fund for non-academic-related "social activities." Just because I'm in one of your classes doesn't mean I can "make an exception" for you. Hell, I don't even agree with your idea myself. You are such an idiot, and so are those who voted for you.

Your newly named 'tight-assed' DA.

Nicole,

Sympathies on the major presence fail in your life. I know how you feel.

----------------------------------------------

Dear X,

I am a practical person. I think you, of all people, would know that. You've seen me longest and at my worst, when I was lowest and also when I was most exultant. Back in the day, yes, I wasn't especially; I have a very thin skin, and had to grow calluses over the part that people would hurt me with. I used to wish those other kids would grow up and learn to accept people as they are. Since then I've learned that the person who needed to grow up was me. There are certain things you just don't get in this world. Kindness is one of them.

You've encouraged me to be mature and sensible. You've encouraged me to take life as it is, not as I want it to be. You've taught me to grit my teeth and accept that sometimes, you can't always get what you want. These are important skills--skills I see too many of my peers lacking--and I thank you for them.

But sometimes I need to be allowed to dream.

There is very little hope in my life; there is very little hope in my soul. There is very little in this world I look forward to; I have learned (through ruthless process of elimination) that wanting something is one of the best ways to guarantee that I will never, ever, ever get it. For instance, I've wanted to get laid for ten years. (There are times I wonder about self-sabotage. There are other times when there is nothing to wonder about.) To a large extent, my life is, as they say, hopeless. Hope is a dangerous substance in my life: too much of it will drown you, just as surely as too little of it will kill you. It must be controlled, for my own safety; I can only allow myself a little of it at a time. And what little there is, I cherish.

You see me drifting like this, mostly hopeless, and have told me I am simply marking time, floating aimlessly until something comes along. To a large extent, you are right. You have asked me--only sometimes with patience--what it is I plan to do with my life, and how I plan to do it. You want to know when I'm leaving my parents' house, of course, but even more than that: you believe in me, in my talent and my ability, and want to know when I'm going to apply myself.

Most of the time, when you ask these questions, I don't answer.

That seems to perplex you. Perhaps you'd be less confused if you noticed that, on the few occasions I do answer, your immediate tendency is to poke holes in it. It's never realistic enough, I'm never enthusiastic enough, it's never practical enough. I'm not good enough. I am, as the kittens say nowadays, DOIN IT WRONG.

If you want me to tell you what my dreams are, you shouldn't pop them.

(Of course, clearly I have some growth to do as well. After all, if someone is going to poke me on some exposed patch of skin, it's my job to armor that patch so that they can't hurt me with it anymore. One should never expect kindness when hurt could come instead.)

In the end, I've made my choice. Simply put, I'm not going to share my dreams with you again. Not anymore. You've shown--repeatedly--that you are not to be trusted with the fondest wishes of my heart; and I have shown--repeatedly--stupidity at not realizing this. I don't think you know how to deal with dreams; I don't think you understand the fragility of those moments, the way they need to be protected. You want the tree to spring fully-formed from the seed, without any of this "raising & nurturing" nonsense. Well, from now on you won't have to. No more shall this be. From this moment forth, my lips are sealed.

You may continue to be perplexed that I don't share with you. You may want to know what I plan and what I dream about. You may wish to know when I'm leaving your house, and when I will begin to apply my abilities and talents--the ones you won't admit you believe in, the ones you never taught me to believe in. You want to know when I'm going to marshal the self-confidence you never taught me and strike out into the world.

Sometimes, you can't always get what you want.

You may not have taught me much, but you taught me that.

In love and respect,
your firstborn.

Dear X:

Thanks for wondering where I'd gone. I'm back for a bit, it seems.

Dear Fuckwit

SPP1 Form. Now. We have no money, and have been refused a crisis loan. I WANT MY GODDAMN FORM!

Dear X,

Not a Qadishtu, you're just an alcoholic bitch that likes to have an audience.

j

Dear Cat,

STOP WASHING MY EAR!! IT TICKLES!!!

Signed,
Your loving owner

Dear X,

"If I do this wrong as a priestess, I may lose a good friendship, and fuck up a very fine magician and an excellent human being."

I guess we know how that played out.

j

Dear Spider that was in my car when I got into it and then scuttled into the compartment where the seat belt rolls up so that I couldn't fish you out and throw you away,

YYYEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAERURGE8U#tw$%tg($tr@#?jre

without love,
CWatson

CWatson said:

Dear Spider that was in my car when I got into it and then scuttled into the compartment where the seat belt rolls up so that I couldn't fish you out and throw you away,

YYYEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAERURGE8U#tw$%tg($tr@#?jre

without love,
CWatson

Click to expand...

Okay, you really have to stop this reading my mind stuff. I had the same sort of thing yesterday. And it elicited the same sort of reaction. Wicked, wicked boy. What are you, Peter Jackson circa his King Kong remake- getting inside my head and creating a movie that's tailor-made to screw with my personal mind? I mean, giant bugs. Eating people, all gooey and gross. What was that?!?!

What is this?!
Mkay. I'm wired.

Dear Dr. X:

Three jobs in a row from you, and I feel like shooting myself in the head. That's what listening to you and trying to decipher your gibberish does to me.

Oh, and also, thanks, so much for slowing me down today. Three times I get you. Can't wait to see my stats. Like I'm not slow enough already. Yeah, thanks again.

Sincerely,
Someone You'll Never Know
(and prolly don't care)

Dear Dr. X:

I will conquer you. Yes, you and all your friends too.

Sincerely yours,

The person whose little initials you see on your documents. Yes, the little lower case insignificant ones.

Dear Shang:

The way you eviscerate with kindness is awe inspiring.

~ Imp

Dear Memory -

I realize that the body is busy growing a fetus, and there's a lot of new hormones and all sorts of things effecting your ability to function. However, if you could get your act together soon, I would greatly appreciate it, and so would everyone else - including the kid I forgot to pack lunch for and the dog I left outside in the rain.

Selena_Kitt said:

Dear Memory -

I realize that the body is busy growing a fetus, and there's a lot of new hormones and all sorts of things effecting your ability to function. However, if you could get your act together soon, I would greatly appreciate it, and so would everyone else - including the kid I forgot to pack lunch for and the dog I left outside in the rain.

Click to expand...

Sympathy, empathy and all that jazz!

Selena_Kitt said:

Dear Memory -

I realize that the body is busy growing a fetus, and there's a lot of new hormones and all sorts of things effecting your ability to function. However, if you could get your act together soon, I would greatly appreciate it, and so would everyone else - including the kid I forgot to pack lunch for and the dog I left outside in the rain.

Click to expand...

Dear Selena,

If this is what happens to memory when one is pregnant, i am utterly screwed. I haven't the best memory anyway!!!!

my sympathies, lets just hope you don't forget you're pregnant and wake up one morning and look down at your stomach and go 'what the hell?!'

Gracie

Dear boys,

The closet rod is made to hang clothes from. Not to hang little boys from. This is why the rod and shelf and metal brackets are now on the closet floor instead of attached to the wall where they are supposed to be. Please let this be a lesson to you and don't get it in your heads again to swing like monkeys from the clothes rod.


Mom

Dear cats,

PLEASE stop peeing on the bed!

Love,

Your owner

Dear X,

Every couple of months, I search lit to see if you've reposted that story under another alt.

It's the kind of thing I think you'd do.

J

Dear X:

It's ok. Mommy took care of it, as usual. Yeah, I can even move furniture, you ass. So, go ahead and get back to standing around, scratching your head, and wondering what to do. Maybe I'll go ahead and call the insurance adjustor too, since I've got my Super Mom hat on today.

Thanks,
Me

Dear Manu,

PLEASE get that "Ignore Entire Thread" function installed ASAP.

Warmly,

~ Imp

impressive said:

Dear Manu,

PLEASE get that "Ignore Entire Thread" function installed ASAP.

Warmly,

~ Imp

Click to expand...

*agrees*

Dear X

No. I do not have my SSP1 form. I have the letter of termination of employment, my last wageslip, and NO MONEY FOR SIX WEEKS.

And yet all you repeat is "Well, they have to give you one, its the law." They haven't, and since I'm no longer employed there, they will not speak to me. If it's the fucking LAW that they have to do something PULL YOUR FUCKING FINGER OUT about it. I've done all I possibly can!

Dear Whoever Came Up With Sadguysontradingfloors.com,

Thank you for giving us something to laugh over in the middle of this...um...what's a nine-letter word for "horrifying financial crisis?"

Sincerely,
Someone Who Sorely Needs Reasons to Laugh