Letters of Love - Part 1

WARNING: This post is NOT related to sports. But I can do what I want - the blog is my creation.

Today I had a serene day. I suppose it is all relative to my dramatic gloom and doom expectations. For the past several weeks I have dreaded this very week we are treading through. As I have mentioned in previous non-sports related posts, I have to grade exams in a location that eats up three hours of my time each day via the malodorous subway. I mean, come on, I have to pay $35 to do something that I don’t want to do? The idea is outlandish. So anyway, I was not thrilled about grading these tests in Queens. BUT…

Shockingly, the process is not dire. The company was agreeable, all the “cool” people from the district have to attend (they ARE actually are cool), I experience virtually no stress, and I get to read for an extended period of time. I suppose this is an idyllic situation for me.

Oddly enough, this whole process put me in a relatively decent mood. I am going to pounce on this opportunity to be genteel and not snarky – I will compose letters of love.

Dear Michael McNicePants,

I love you. Thank you for making steak in an effort to satisfy my inner carnivore. I would also like to thank you for unloading the dishwasher. Very few things annoy me more than walking a pile of plates over to the shelf. The counter creates an unnecessary 6 feet of walking. Thank you for eliminating that potential flying plate.

Love,

Sarah

Dear Man without a home that roamed the subway,

Thank you for telling me that God loved me. I was really on the fence about that one. But clearly you would know God’s true feelings. He probably talks to you.

Love,

Sarah

Dear Soda Machines at the Queens Mall,

It is okay that you were out of service. I forgive you. The man without a home told me that God loves me. Everything will be okay.

Love,

Sarah

Dear boys playing basketball outside of the school on Pacific Street,

Keep practicing – you are bound to improve. Try not to let reality get you down. Keep pretending you are Carmelo or some other ball-hog in the NBA.

Love,

Sarah

Dear R Train,

I used to think that the R stood for ‘ridiculous’ but now I think it stands for ‘reading.’

Love,

Sarah

Dear Mark Sanchez,

You may not be that good at being a quarterback. But take pride in the fact that you fooled people into paying you millions of dollars for no real accomplishments. Plus – you will probably be given the opportunity to impregnate a girl or two. Good for you. You fooled them all.

Love,

Sarah