My Dearest Universe,
We have a special relationship. I've known this for awhile. You've made it quite clear to me, actually. You give me so much more attention than most people. Okay, not really more attention, but a very unique kind of attention. And you're always endeavoring to keep in touch. You call, you write, you text, you stop by unannounced. You pen love letters attached to rocks that are delivered by shattering my windows. You write mediocre poetry on slabs of wood that you hit me in the head with. There are already quite a few red flags in this relationship, but I'll ignore those for now, because we have a larger issue than the moderately creepy and abusive things you do to me.
Darling, you don't speak English.
And if we're going to be on speaking terms, we need to speak the same language here. I know you think you're being clear when you let a cyclist plow me over on my way to class, but I can see some mixed messages in that. I mean, am I supposed to avoid cyclists? (I usually do anyway.) Pay more attention when I'm walking? (You might have a point there...) Stop trying to get to that class on time? (Tried it. Most of the semester.) Give up on life now, because who the heck gets hit by a cyclist? I mean really. With messages like that, you're making me want to avoid listening to you at all.
Sometimes I wish you'd just shut up,
Jenna
