Dear Creative Dehydration;

I hate you.

You make me feel like a slacker. I thought I was going to get some serious writing done this summer! I thought I could finish something, start something, make headway on something. Post something? But I'm dry. Dry and sucked out. I have nothing. Nothing. Nothing to type, nothing to think, nothing to create.

All I have are the same old stupid daydreams - new daydreams, but nothing real, nothing that could possibly mean anything or go anywhere. I can't make myself sit down - I can hardly look at a screen or a piece of paper. I have new pens, new books, but nothing to do with them.

Quel dommage?
LOVE,
Colline

Dear People:

I hate you.

Well, I like you fine, I suppose, even those I haven't met. But please, for the love (love!) of whatever it is you find holy (be it God, Allah, the Mona Lisa or chocolate chip cookies), will you please (please!) stop asking me what I want to do when I 'am older'?!?!??!

Even if you word it as, "Well, say this fall you were coming out of Grade 12. What would you do?" I have no flipping idea, that's why I'm NOT coming out of Grade 12! And then they start in on, "well, it's not enough to have a vague idea of the field" (ahh!) or "as long as you know what you like" (*phew*) or "you know, what you end up doing probably won't be the least bit related to what you studied" (wtf m?). Bloody buggerfuck people, just let me alone! I cannot (cannot!) answer your questions if I do not know the answer. And it's not just the odd person, either. As soon as everyone (everyone!) you meet finds out you have joined the Ranks of the Unclean, it's the first thing they want to know.

People: From now on, I am just going to stick to 'pirate' (pirate!) and leave it at that.
LOVE (love!)
Colline

Dear Christiano Ronaldo;

I hate you.

OK, you have a lovely face, my dear, but behind it lurks a soul of much evil. Because NOT ONLY did you score on Robinson, but you made him look like an idiot as he lunged the WRONG WAY. I mean, the least you could have done, Chris, would be to have kicked it a couple of inches above his hands so it looked spectacular. Well, OK, or maybe right INTO him. But I suppose you have too many credentials for that.

And I mean, what's up with even PLAYING? I thought you were HURT (not that I would take any pleasure in your physical pain, you understand). Come on, seriously. Get with the program, lover. It's not like Portugal's ever won the cup - what do YOU have to lose? But England - I mean, it's been a long time, lover, don't you think? At least let them have a shot. And if you'd MISSED yours, then I wouldn't be complaining, especially not if they won. Then I might have a few fleeting (very, VERY fleeting) seconds of pity for you amidst my frolicking and joy if only because you're good looking.

And let's face it: I'd rather read about you in the paper (because you would have lost, you see, and there might be a good weeping picture) than Tie Domi, because you're much better looking. I mean, footabllers in GENERAL are much better looking than hockey players. I mean, would YOU personally, rather look at, say, Darcey Tucker or Michael Ballack? Mats Sundin or Dida? I ask you.

But I'm off topic. Darrrrrling, I'm very disappointed in you. Not for Brasil, since you had NOTHING to do with that, but now I can't see the Blue Cleats anymore. I think you should buy them for me, Chris. Just to say you're sorry.

LOVE,
Colline

"The rain comes down like a victory/in sheets of shining memory/over and over, circling around...oh, almost too much for my heart/when it rains/Oh tears my soul apart/when it rains/almost too much for my heart/in a dream/tears my soul apart/the rain clouds move so slowly/in the city where I'm from" - Rain City by Turin Brakes
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Dear Staying Inside;

I hate you.

Of course I'm at work. I have to act professionally. I have to do things indoors. I turn sixteen soon. I'm not five anymore. I KNOW that, OK? But please - just this once?

Because when the rain comes down, it comes - baby, it comes. It beats and it floods and then the wind whips it around. And it's been so long since I've gone out in the rain. I want to squint in the rain and get abso-bally-lutely soaking wet. That's my problem. 

LOVE,
Colline

She said "Some days I feel like shit,
Some days I wanna quit, and just be normal for a bit,"
I don't understand why you have to always be gone,
I get along but the trips always feel so long,
And, I find myself trying to stay by the phone,
'Cause your voice always helps me to not feel so alone,
But I feel like an idiot, workin' my day around the call,
But when I pick up I don't have much to say,
So, I want you to know it's a little fucked up,
That I'm stuck here waitin', at times debatin',
Tellin' you that I've had it with you and your career,
Me and the rest of the family here singing "Where'd you go?"

I hate it when you leave....