A letter to my best friends

When people ask me who my close friends are, I always say you four. I just want to let you know that I'm feeling good. At first, moving back home with my parents was ridiculous. My mom ignored me for four days, I'd mope and yearn, and feel deprived of life.

Lately I've been feeling fucking awesome.

I rearranged my room, put up some band posters. I have a growing collection of boxes and records. I have an area to fucking rage on guitar and make xerox crap with a lil'old xerox machine my mom gave me. My job is less than 5 minutes away. I enjoy the scenery that wraps around this pennsylvania hillside. I have a boyfriend and I love making love to him. I opened a library card and netflix account. I have my budget in order. And I spend all my free money on records. And save my change for the soda machine at work.

My radio show is acquiring a local fan base, outside of my mom and dad. I've been making radio fliers to post around the city and campus. I'm happy when I see someone tore them down. The last one was of bart simpson with a upside down cross on his forehead. I stapled it above the payphone near Wawa and the next morning when I went to buy a wawa sizzler, only the stappled corners where left.

Last weekend, my uncle came over for dinner and him and I talked about Flipper, X, Jackie DeShannon, Meat Puppets, Pretty Things, ... 60s psych. I had no idea he was into it. He had no idea I was into it. All I knew about him was that he cheated on my aunt for years, left her and my cousin, came back for Christmas with a new girlfriend, punched my other uncle in the face, and likes to drink beer and cook BBQ. He's back with my aunt and my cousin is preggo with child. She's my age and is still smoking. Her boyfriend likes to drink and has huge coin slots for nostrils.

I miss you guys.