dear marc,

hey. how are you? you’re doing great? your business has never been better and you’re actively running 3 or 4 companies? i’m so happy for you.


i’ve become everything i never wanted to be: i’m single, penniless, MOSTLY SOBER BECAUSE I’M SO PENNILESS, and living with someone who yells at me if i wash my face or make toast after 930 pm. AND I HAVE TO TAKE THE BUS, MARC. THE BUS. do you know what that’s like? feel free to read this insightful socio-anthropological study about bus people in Seattle and then picture yourself all up in that asshole. IT ISN’T PRETTY. IT SMELLS.

and my life has become a series of panic attacks because i either can’t stop thinking about being unemployed or, more recently, why a job i’ve interviewed for three times didn’t pan out because i’m a ‘cowboy’ and ‘too creative.’  so i spend most of my days walking to calm myself. i walk right when i get up in the morning (afternoon), when all the people who work from home are running or pushing strollers and it makes me even more depressed because it makes me wish i was unemployed and still in London, where the only people out during that time were homeless people and nannies who took their charges to the park just so they could secretly smoke behind their backs. i also walk at night, which is the witching hour for fat chicks who don’t want people to see them run, and hormonal youths who eat each others tongues at the bus stop two blocks away (YOU ARE TERRIBLE KISSERS). i also keep my eyes out for Lucius, Wyatt, and Gordy:


HELLO, REWARD MONEY. i’ve thought about calling these people and telling them that i have their precious pet, but i won’t let them have it back because finders-keepers, just to stir the pot.

and i’ve found that i’m doing this thing that i do when i’m really depressed and have no friends, which is eat really fibrous foods and then lie, silent and bloated, in my bed watching 3rd Rock from the Sun thinking, ‘i’m so glad i don’t have a bunch of friends who are always asking me to do stuff, because i would definitely have to turn them down tonight, i’m so gassy.’ i usually pass out right before the Solomons sit on their roof and muse about that week’s adventure.

but before you go doing something silly, like OFFER ME A JOB or go cry on your EGYPTIAN COTTON BEDSPREAD WITH HAIND-STITCHED SILHOUETTES OF YOURSELF (i’m assuming), everything isn’t lost. i’ve been pictured on a couple blogs looking like the piece of trash i’ve become, which is obviously nothing new but it keeps my spirits up and my name in the papers.

i’m getting desperate, marc. REALLY desperate. tomorrow i might apply to work at a grocery store just so i can save myself from needing to go to the emergency room when my bedsores get infected.

please, marc. please get me out of here.


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