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It's got rather good advice, so I thought I'd just put it here...

Girls. "We suffer. We suffer. We suffer in silence," as Yente says.

Why do we cry these circles? Round and round. It's... wasteful. We can all be so much more.

Bertha, I've been there. Teetering on the decision, wondering whether to grab to something or not before you fell. I am so proud of you for sending that letter. So proud- it took enormous guts. I've only had the courage to do that sort of thing twice in my life. And there's fear, there's worry, there's guilt immediately after you hit the send button. But it needs to be said. And she will be angry at first. Let her be. (Everyone's angry when you tell them they're not being a good friend.) She will either come around later and try to be a better friend, or she will cease to *grace* you with her friendship entirely. Either way, you are better off. You can be so much more.

Condescension is like rat poison- you bleed and die on the inside without knowing it.

And Chelle. ((Meesheow)). That's me hugging you. What he did, playing, wanting his night of Barbie and Ken with no strings, is just wrong. When you said "we were so beautiful" I knew exactly what you meant. But you know what the most important word in that sentence is? Most important... is not "beautiful." It's "were." You were. What was once is not anymore and it's heartbreaking, but it's still a *was*. Chris (my first *him) and I were beautiful. But we are a was.

CB and I- well, maybe not him, but *I* was beautiful dammit, and together we were like a cheap silk flower arrangement- plastic and so, so hollow. And eventually the truth faded out the beauty, like sunlight, and I realized roots won't grow in styrofoam.

I am so sorry, honey. He is awful for being so impatient, so immature, so like a little kid in an ice cream parlor, who wants two scoops but picks one- the cheaper one. Because it's easier. He's not willing to work for you. And he's not worth it. He doesn't deserve you, because she might be a nice strawberries n cream, but you are Haagen Das. Walk like you know it, and somebody will eventually come along. You can be so much more.

Jess, I know you're working hard. :) Don't work *too* hard. Highschool isn't remembered in SAT scores. I have no clue how it felt when I found out I was top 10%. But I do remember the great feeling of talking for hours with the girl who just barely missed it, talking about everything but school. Life is the moments between the grades. You can be so much more than numbers. And hey, if Harvard turns you down, you might be destined for a little unknown school that you'll make famous for its association with you. :) I plan on putting St. Mary's on the map, myself. And at first I wasn't even sure it had a music major.

Bambina, we haven't talked in a while, so I miss you. :)

And Lala. You've found out something important. For all the doubts and the distance, you realized he's not it for you. Or at least not all of it. I found out the same thing when I tried writing that one last apology to Charlie Brown. Part of me still thought I'd lost something great. Some pathetic part of me hid in a corner and spun dreams of what if. What if he came back. What if we started over. And I'd scripted us into forgiving and forgetting, into kissing on a park bench, same as I did a year ago, even knowing the ugliness of him. It was stupid of me. And he wrote back and blew away those doppelgangers because he was just simply so not what I wanted, with his smugness and condescension (remember, it's rat poison... so don't swallow it).

And even though your boy is not Charlie Brown, that he does in fact possess brains, heart, and testicles, he's not enough for you right now. You need someone next to you. He's a comfort food- he's macaroni and cheese, mashed potatoes, whatever you want to call him. And he's perfectly nice. And maybe at some other point you'll be hungry for mac 'n' cheese again. But try lasagna in the meantime, okay? 300 miles is a long way to drive for comfort food. You can be so much more, you can have so much more. Try for it before you think he is the last person you will ever love.

This mail gets longer... for that I apologize.

And... back to me. This weekend was supposed to test how much I thought of Sam. In 48 hours away from him. I was supposed to flirt a bit with this other guy, Randy, who seemed awfully interested in me during a Trivial Pursuit game in the Honors office weeks ago. I was supposed to find out. But Randy didn't come. A sign, when he comes every year? Maybe, maybe not.

One of the types of boys I hate was there- very handsome, phenomenally uninterested in my breed of woman simply because the package isn't airbrushed. I wished I had Sam to talk to.

There was a tall, skinny black guy who flirted with every single girl there and he's a cutie pie. It reminded me of how insecure I used to get when I'd see Sam being friendly with other girls, even after I'd made such a point to tell him not to take my flirting with anyone seriously because I was "enjoying being single."

I talked with Julia, my other perpetually (and undeservedly) single friend, and she was convinced the flirty black guy liked her, even though he was the same with her as he was with every girl. I wonder if I'm like that, assuming based on uniform friendliness, and I don't even know it.

We told ghost stories, true ones about ghosts in some of the older buildings on campus, and I desperately wanted Sam's big shoulders to hug.

Driving home I decided the test was a wash. Not enough variables, or maybe too many variables, to make it worthwhile. So we'll see what we shall see when I go see the band concert in 1 hour and 41 minutes.

Not that I'm counting or anything.

::ends the e-mail:: Love you girls. Who knew I could find mirrors across the country who looked so much like me at times?

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