Dear Kelly,

I feel it’s time to wear more skirts, it’s time to change brains, it’s time to up my dose, it’s time for less empathy. I don’t have any appetite for this appetite. I tell my lover she’s my little Hamlet when she cries and cries.

Let me explain: the feeling there’s something else you’re supposed to be doing is terrible as a flock of birds. I tried to up the antecedent. I was fit to burst with words. Honey, I wanted the hit.