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Annie,
I know I haven't gotten to talk to you much, and I'm sorry for that. Between traveling and crashing at random people's houses, I've been at my wits end trying to scrape a little bit of what sanity I have left back together to help me get through the rest of my travels. Don't ask me why I left in the first place, I'm not entirely sure. To find myself? To run away from a city of neon and chrome? I don't know. Whoever said I should be a musician should be shot, because I haven't got it in me. The music is there, but nothing else. I eat, sleep, and breathe augmented seventh chords. I make love to my guitar. What's left, taking a shit? I do that in porta-johns and woods because I don't trust rest stops. It's a glamorous life I lead, I know.
I was in Santa Barbara last week and I thought about you. Remember that time when we came down there with Jocilyn and I faked her out with that shitty meatball sub? I think about that kind of stuff all the time; I think about random things that we used to do when we had the time, or the money, or the guts. Who knew life would come at us so fast and we'd find ourselves struggling just to pick up a fuckin' phone, when some people don't even have that luxury? It's sad, it's my fault, I'm an ass. Forgive me? At least pretend to, even if you don't really.
This week, I go to Georgia. I'm going to see my folks, and visit Katie down in Savannah. She's been giving me hell for not visiting her at SCAD; supposedly, she's got a show next week and I've got to get details for it, but I'm hoping to surprise her. My parents said she calls about once a week looking for me, but I'm an idiot and have my phone turned off because I don't believe in chargers. That's my story, and I'm stickin' to it. (Really, I just prefer letters. Nothing shows sentiment like ink dripped from a pen that's been in your pocket and all around the fucking country.)
This is completely off-topic, but do you remember that time we went to that pizza place outside of Georgetown when Burke was "sick" and had just broken it off with Lonia? Well, I found that pizza place, but not in Georgetown. These people in Santa Barbara fucking Googled that restaurant, called the owners and bought their recipe. It's called Chico's and it's amazing, they were having an open mic night down at the Square but it was on Friday, and I couldn't go. This place is oozing college, it makes me wish I had actually stuck to my original intentions... except not really. I have too much fun mooching off of your brother and writing these ridiculous letters that are full of absolutely nothing.
I owe Burke a shitload of money, you remind him of that. Then remind him I don't have any money, but to put it on my tab. All for now, I know this is shallow and empty but I didn't know what else to say to you.
Inconveniently,
Holland.
P.S. -- I'll see you two weeks. I expect to see those disgustingly hot panties the second I get home. On the floor. Preferably with the rest of your clothes.
P.P.S. -- You didn't think this letter could be written without even a little bit of kink in it, did you?
P.P.P.S -- I wrote you a song. When I see you, you'll hear it.
P.P.P.P.S. -- Only if your panties are on the floor, though.
