Dear Life,

Thank you for having me as a guest on Planet Earth. I wish I could get married. I wish I could have a real job. I’ve decided I’m too confused and messed-up to have a full life. I wish I could bring more beauty into this world. Anyway, I can’t wait to turn 50 next summer. Then, I can die. Or live. It’s up to God and I to decide whether I die or live.
I am haunted by my own death. I know that sex and death are intimately connected. That’s why I find sex so scary! You and your lover are never the same afterwards. Sex causes marriage. I’m ignorant of marriage, I know. I’ve never been married! I’m waaaaaaayyyy too human to even attempt genuine intimacy. I guess intimacy and I have to remain alien to each other.
Too bad. I’d make someone a GREAT wife. I know I’m not supposed to have confidence in myself. The official story is, I’m crazy and a piece of trash who has no right to even take her next breath. To the one who says that nonsense to me, please fuck off. IMMEDIATELY. Thank you!

Love, Linda


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