Of all the things that could be late, this is the least troublesome.

Day Three: Letter to Parents

Dear Parents,

Recently I've been thinking about how children don't get to choose their parents. How each one of us is thrust into this family construct without being asked what color hair we would like our mother to have or the way our father would react to a broken curfew. And sometimes I get angry because we're just so different. Often I go into teen angst mode and grumble about how neither of you "understand me." So many times I forget that you are human beings with thoughts, and feelings, and dreams, and hopes, and fears. I place you into this neat box of being "parents," and it's never that easy. It will never be that easy.

But I love you. I love you both so entirely much. I love you for understanding my need to leave Indiana, for being patient with me when I returned home and spouted new ideas about marijuana and abortion and gay marriage and other seemingly important social issues, for listening to me complain about boys and girls and knuckle-headed professors, for offering me sound advice. Such sound advice.

I love both of you for being such a strong example of what a marriage should be. A marriage that has not been perfect, full of peaks and valleys, full of love, full of devotion to each other and to Christ. You challenge each other. You fart in front of each other. That's what I want with my future husband. To laugh and fart.

This is rambly. I wish I could tell all of this to you in person. I want to get to know both of you outside the realm of being my parents, and one day I know I will. It's exciting to know that I get to grow with you. It's exciting to know that you love me completely. It's exciting to know that one day I will take everything that you have taught me will be put to good use. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.

Love,
THE GREATEST DAUGHTER IN THE WORLD

Day Two

"That's why they call them crushes. If they were easy, they would call them something else."

Day Two: Letter to a Crush

C is for "cool" because you drive a nice car, one with belt buckles that really snap into place and air conditioning that doesn't wimp out on long drives
R is for "rescue" because if I were to suddenly go into cardiac arrest you could perform C.P.R.
U is for "unique" because one time I heard another girl mention that you play the sitar, but I don't know if this is actually true so I'm going on good faith
S is for "stitches" because you have that long scar that starts at the nape of your neck and wraps around your body like a coil from that "accident" nobody really wants to talk about
H is for "hope" because one day I hope that I can have a crush as awesome as this guy

Love,
Delainey

Day One

Once, during a mock interview for a fake position at a fake store in fake Exchange City located in a very real part of downtown, I was asked, "Delainey, do you consider yourself to be a leader or a follower?" After fiddling with my white jacket and adjusting my beige colored ribbed tank that I borrowed from my mom earlier that morning (my boobs were not the same size as hers which lead to an unsightly sag), I answered, "Both. Sometimes I lead. Sometimes I follow. It depends on what mood I'm in, but I'm really good at being both." So, there. I'm a follower. And in follower fashion I'll attempt to do the 30 Day Challenge. Please don't hate me.

Day One: Letter to a Best Friend

Dear Best Friend,

I have never called you a "best friend" to your face out of the fear that you might not consider me to be one of your "best friends."

You are what you love and not what loves you back.

Best friend, do you know that I envy you? Your writing is your own. You have successfully found your own voice, your own style, your own charm, your own wit. Your brain works in a way that mine never will. I hate you for that, but it seems silly to hate a best friend. So, best friend, I am proud of you and your writing. It will take you places. Of this I am sure.

Best friend, do you know that it has never been a struggle to call you "best friend?" Not once, in the many years I have known you, have I doubted that we were meant to be friends. From the time your mom knocked on my front door on that hot day in September until the last time we smoked cigars and chased ghosts, every moment has been worthwhile.

Best friend, do you know that I was worried college would hurt our friendship? It has not.

Best friend, thanks for pushing back. And being rude. And being mean. And being snobby.

Best friend, thanks for being yourself. It makes it that much easier to be "me" around you.

Okay, dummy. Enough praise for you.

RESPECTFULLY,

Delainey