I don't know most of you, to be honest. I was just planning on writing my mom, but then it seemed like a good idea to, I don't know, cover all my bases, or something like that. I'm sorry I don't have a shrine up for you. It seems like if it's not one thing, it's another. I need to stop making excuses and just find a spot, I know. Just DO, and all that.
To my former classmate: am I missing some cosmic hint? Would we actually have been fairly good friends later on in life, or if I'd even smiled at you just once in Oshkosh? I'm sorry about that, by the way. There was still a lot of anger and pain there about grade school. Still is, I guess, if I'm going to be honest with myself, though it seems to be directed more at the living now.
Mom. Oh, gods, I don't know what to say. My last images of you are so horrible that sometimes it's hard to remember the way you were before the tumor. Do you remember me now? Do They have a piano for you to play and crossword tournaments to go to? Are King and Slew and Pounce and every other dog and cat with you again? Have you seen Spunky, Snickers, and Schnapps grow and change and move around with Ian and I? Alternately, have you watched me with Chris? I think you'd have liked him a lot. I just wish he liked me as much as I like him. I think we could do well together. Of course, you've seen my luck with relationships, so I could be totally off the mark. I miss you. I miss your odd sense of humor. I miss your help. I miss the house outside of Cascade still feeling a little bit like a home because you're there. I'm so sorry for all the grief I caused you when you were alive. I think you'd have liked me post-ECT. Usually I'm doing better. I hope you're happy wherever you are.