Dear Quincy,
Congratulations! If
you’re happy, I’m happy, and I think you’ll be happy with Mr. Architect (and I use
that in a loving way). What did your
parents say when you told them? I’m sure
they are really excited for you too--they always loved him. You two are going to buy a house. You don’t know when the wedding will be, but
you suspect next summer. You’re freaking
out, but this is what you want. And
because of that, I am really quite happy for you.
I’m bummed that we missed each other when I was in the Twin
Cities. You should come visit me in New
York, when you get the chance. There’s
some great stuff here and some cool people.
You can meet my new girlfriend—well she’s not really my girlfriend. In fact, she might not be my anything when I come
back from my road trip. You see, I gave
her this ultimatum. I told her she had
three weeks (the duration of my journey) to decide if she wanted to be with
me. If she doesn’t want to, then I don’t
want to hang out with her anymore. It’s
unfair, and I suck, I know. I just can’t
live in limbo like this anymore. She
didn’t know if she’d be able to make a decision. I figure if she doesn’t, then it’s a “no.”
I’m almost a little afraid to contact her right now. If I do, she might say she doesn’t want to be
with me over the phone. I don’t think that’s
something I would want to deal with. So
even though I’m forcing her to decide, I’m almost too afraid to find out what
she thinks. It’s fuck up, I know.
Sorry to tell you all of this garbage. This was supposed to be a carefree,
congratulatory email. It all just sort
of spilled out. I am really happy for
you. Bring Mr. Architect when you come
visit me.
Congrats again,
Chuck
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