Bad Day in Letters Never Sent

From February 2007, written to an ex-lover who was at the time, still a good friend.

Dear You,

So you cut yourself shaving and your dog ate your bus pass. So the deal fell through and your boss is pissed; you won't be getting the big promotion and you gotta work through lunch. The blender broke and the car won't start. The cable's out and your roof fell in. So what? Who cares? It's been a bad day, baby, and who cares?

Well I care honey. I'm full of life and I'm full of love. I'm a holiday waiting to happen and I'm wishing I could throw my arms around you, surround you with me, be everything you need when you need it when you're having a bad day, baby. I feel bad for you for the day you're having and I'm feeling bad for me that I'm not there to make it better.

The whole world's on the blink, baby; Anna Nichole Smith is dead and still unburied, and everybody's fighting over the body and the baby. President Shrub is busy comparing himself to George Washington and Brittney's shaving he head and donating her hair to E-bay. Then there's that woman with the PTA who's going to jail for fifteen years for stealing from the family of a kid who died of cancer. It's a mess out there like it's a mess in here, and I care about all of it, but mostly I care about you babe. I care about you after all these years, even when I thought I'd stopped caring. Yeah, I'm here, still caring, still loving, still living, still breathing, still wanting something more than my everyday world but not needing yours, really.

And I care about your bad day like I'd be caring about my own.

Yesterday afternoon, well after the cleaning lady had been here, I accidentally spread used kitty litter all over the house trying to take it out to the garbage. Yeah, I was in deep shit, honey. Yeah, that's just what I said. How appropriate. I was having my own bad day at the moment, and you were caring when I told you about it. You cared about my bad day while the whole world said, "So what?"

Which in the long run doesn't mean a whole lot, does it? I mean, it doesn't have to mean anything at all, really, or does it? I don't think it does. I mean, I'm not in love, and you're not here. It's just that when I fall into pieces over a bad day you're the one who says it's a big deal, just like when your life is going all to hell in a big old hand basket I'm the first to extend my comforting heart across the obstreperous silence that might have taken place without friendship playing its hand and running the game for us.

The heat of the afternoon sun melts the snow just enough to send it sailing off the roof in front of my window and to the ground below with a great train-like roar and a huge, heavy-handed thud. It's the sound of a world falling in as you tell me about the vacuum that died, the dog that threw up, the lunch that got cold before you could eat it, and the work computers being down for two hours, holding you and yours up from getting anything done at the office. You're frazzled and frustrated, and wondering who the hell cares. Nobody cares, really; the world goes on regardless of us and our bad day. Who cares? So what? I care, honey. I care about you and your bad day, baby. I care, 'cause that's what I do best.

Yeah, it's me and my faith in God, and it's my faith in you, and it's all of that and more that holds me to caring about you and your bad day, just like you care about mine.

If we were both smarter than we think we are, or at least smarter than we look, I wonder what we'd see in each other. I wonder if we'd notice a similarity of style and grace that merges us more than we'd like to admit, or would we understand more fully that our dreams and our desires are separate from one another so much that perhaps all we're meant to have is a caring that clings from a distance like it's doing right now, and that's enough? I'd like for someone to take a picture of us together one of these days, if Muffing the Wonder Dog will ever let you leave long enough to travel again, because they say the camera never lies, and I'd like to see what the camera has to say about us. I'd like to know what the camera thinks of our eyes. I'd like to know what the camera thinks of our smiles. I'd like to know what the camera says about the way we pose for it.

I'd like to know if it says something about us that neither of us would mind knowing.

Or would it perhaps simply say, "You are having a bad day, and a bad day is all you have between you holding you together. Go free, go home, but never stop caring enough to sympathize...Go home...

...And by the way, have a nice day for once, will ya?"

Sincerely, Your Favorite Sheepdog