Send the autos swerving into the loneliest evening

Dear Carrie,

Some good things have been happening in my life. A few crappy things, one particularly unpleasant thing that is hopefully over soon, but also many good things. I feel like I really appreciate the good things, or at least I am trying to. But good things still hit me hard sometimes because I want to call you and tell you and I can’t. I also want to call you and tell you about the unpleasant thing, because I need support and I know you’d be on my side (you would also be rational and help me to see the other person’s point of view, which of course is the wrong point of view but you would insist that I not get too wrapped up in my anger and self-righteousness and pity, and I would be a better person for it) and you would then help me calm down because I can get really, really worked up about this. And you would remind me that other things are more important and if someone wants to live their life in an underhanded way and make mine difficult in the process then that is their decision. And thinking of what you would say to me helps me to remember there are more important things, and not being able to talk to you about it is one of those more important things. You are important, and the time we had together is important and the fact that I have lost you and that life is important and valuable and worthy of celebration is important.

More than just calling you with my anger and frustration I want to call you with joy and happy news and funny stories. Just living in New Mexico and having two dogs and talking to my sister leads to funny stories. A few months ago when something nice happened or I had an amusing conversation I would think of telling you about it later, just like I did when we lived together in L.A. and I would have a conversation in my head about something to tell you that night at home, or if it was really funny I would call you and leave a teaser on your voicemail saying I had a hilarious story to tell you later and by the way did you see the letter from the landlord? But a few months ago I would go through the same thing and then fall down under the bricks that hit me painted with the message “You can’t call her and you can never call her again.” And the bricks still come to me now, only instead of a bag knocking me over a few are tossed and the rest are on the floor in front of me. I can walk over them but I have to read them first. And it still hurts. I guess what I’m trying to say is that I’m still missing you, all the time. And it is true that a friend can double your joy and ease the burden of your sadness. I wish you were here, for joy and sadness and everything in between.