My Violet Hill

I had something specific in mind when I sat down to write this, but now, of course, it elludes me.
Damn.
I guess I'll just go where the words take me then.
I think I'm going to put some tortillas in the oven and see if I can make my own chips.
I don't want to go to those parties anymore. I'm all responsibility and no fun. It's gotten to the point that I envy the other kids their fun because they're rocking out and I can't get into it. It's actually a pretty hard loss. But. I think I'd rather take your company in larger, more private doses. I'm really one of your friends, dear boys, and not just some chick at your party. Although that does cut down on the liklihood of being one of your shameless hookups, well, that's kind of a plus now, isn't it?
I don't know why, but this letter, to me, seems to be taking a rather melodramatic twist. How unfortunate. I cannot properly express my love for all my Loves.
I was talking to my wonderful roommate Liz, the other day and we spoke on the matter of friendships. How, for example, there are many kinds of friendship and many ways in which to express it. The two of us tend to express our caring and our love through Service. There are few things that I enjoy more than doing something to help out one of my friends. Or, not even help, just doing something nice. Renting you that movie, burning you that cd, buying you lunch. Making you dinner. Helping you clean. It just brings me joy and brings me closer to my loves.
However,
there are times when it can wear one a little thin. If it is expected. If it is overlooked. If it is unappreciated. Then it's much less fun and there's much less love. I've seen how it wears on people. I've seen that horrible look in a friend's eyes when something they really invested in is skimmed over or tossed aside.

What I'm really trying to say is this:
I love you.
Yes,
dear reader,
You.

Also, don't put your presents in the freezer. It's rude.