Letters from the Inside, Thomas Bart Whitaker, #6

Dear Kelly,

A big howdy, or yeehaw (or whatever these yahoos say to each other at the local hoot-in-nannie) from secessionist Texas. Have I ever mentioned how much I hate this fucking state? In case I was remiss: I hate this fucking state. There. I wish that had been cathartic, but, alas, I very much doubt my anger is so easily dispelled. I kind of figured you, of all people, would understand my occasional bouts with antisocial thoughts, and how that would apply to my attempt to write. Writing is like...the selective redefining of reality, and not a thing to be attempted whilst feeling as empty as Rick Perry's very attractively coiffed head. It makes me feel comforted to know that you sometimes feel as if you have phone in a blog, from time to time. I feel like that a lot. Especially lately. Dostoevsky said something about suffering being the sole origin of consciousness, and Proust, that happiness is beneficial for the body, but it is grief that develops the mind. I am just barely smart enough to know they are right, but easily weak enough to wish otherwise. When I am happy, I don't write; sad, I can't write. Only when I can stand on the razor's edge between the two do I pick up a pen. It would be condescending of me to pretend I see inside your head or understand your life after just a handful of letters, but I feel as if you will get me or this. Kelly, do me a favor. You wrote in your last letter that "(I) am more interesting than (you) are...I'm just a whiny woman in NYC who had an odd upbringing." Don't do that. Don't minimize yourself like that. I don't write average people; I'm sort of a snob like that. I like who you are as a human being, and nobody is really "ordinary" anyways. Sometimes you say something and I know there is an excellent story behind it, and I hope one day you feel comfortable enough with me to share. After saying that, I should probably reassure you that I meant all of that in a pretty platonic sense. You will not be getting any creepy love-sick missives from Texas DR, I promise. That is not to say that I may not toss out some Hannibal-Lector-esque-Clarisse-fava-beans-type comments, but I hope you know that I am only joking around. My sense of humor really doesn't seem to translate all that well to paper, sometimes. Anyways, what I mean is: You are not some whiny hag to me. So few people today seem to realize how beautiful they are. It's tragic.

My big news of the week: I finally got fed up with my Websters dictionary and its puny 75,000 words, which never served to have anything I needed, and splurged on an Oxford American. 250,000+ beautiful, well-explained words. I've been tossing shite at it all day, and only once has it failed me: apophenia. I'm pretty pleased. Even had otaku in there. Question for you. I have a Rogets "Collegiate" Thesaurus. Absolutely worthless, for the same reason that Websters was. Is there a better thesaurus out there? Something which will have more advanced words? If google can come up with an answer, can you print me the results (with price, if possible). Danke. I really enjoyed the New Yorker piece you sent me. "It means that I'm taller than you, and smarter, an that I get to do lots of awesome things, like smoke cigarettes and ovulate." Ha ha, classic. What does a subscription to the New Yorker cost a year? Its a weekly zine, right? I get Newsweek, Prison Legal News, London Review of Books, Discover, and Smithsonian currently. All but LRB I got off a discount site, where I pay like 20% of the cover price. Not bad, really. By the way, I would definitely be interested in the New York Press info, if you can send it to me. The writing contest I was thinking about entering was for brits only, it turns out. I will find another, though. I will certainly send you a copy of whatever final product I churn out.

Have fun in Alaska! Try not to get eaten by a bear or shot by Governor Palin because she thought you were a bear. Take me a photo or two. Speaking of photos, you looked very pretty and happy in your wedding photo. Was the smile genuine? Its hard to tell if your eyes are mirroring your mouth in this one. Forgive me if that is too personal a question.

How did the play go and the Bobbi Brown cocktail party go? And your Bday? I had a bottle (three actually) of hooch in your honor. Well, I was going to drink them anyways, but it made me feel better to pretend there was a festive reason for fucking off a few million brain cells.

I think I have found a way to complete my BA or BS from here. Its taken me a long bloody time, but I think I have it. As soon as my Dad gets back from Greece. I will give it a shot. Wish me luck.

Well, I'm off. About to be rec time. I hope this find you well. Take care on the trip and send me a few photos! Until next time,

T

P.S. A few updates I left off: I've supposedly been given a new operation date in July.

Didn't really want to talk about 20/20 right now. I didn't see it or listen to it, but I heard plenty about it, nonetheless. Fuck it all. I hate the media. More on the psych stuff coming very soon, when I post it all online. Going to be uncomfortable, but... oh well.

XOXO