Dear Myles,

I am deeply sorry for my *cerebral antioxidant cortex pinnacle masochistic froosh-lined turtle-inspired pony-faced drunk antics tonight. I kissed a boy named Casey with a girlfriend. I kissed him for over 5 minutes, but my FRIEND LINDSAY shocked me and turned over the pond frond and said in diminished tones,

"Megan! Stop!"

At first I was pressed against his tits (we were watching Fight Club when I wrote this). He is 20. I am horny. This is ludacris. But I am so wanting love or sex or fucking human contact. It drives me up the wall. Or maybe up the Labyrinth. Seriously, David Bowie penis bulge.

I WAS KISSING HIM! I WAS MAKING OUT -- NOT MAKING in... it was so nice we sat down. I wish I was back there, kissing... fishing... God, I need to fuck someone. I have never been this disappointed.

Nevermind. It is better. It is better like a sweater.

Maybe it is bad that I am still drinking. I met Colin. Didn't you? Meet? Wow. Screamo tonight. Yepppp. Wow, so I am writing to Myles but do you know who I really want? That is Ryan. Why? Whyan? It's just like lumpy gravy. Why do I like it?

We (Colin, Lindsay, Cas--myself) had an intellectual conversation. The stars.

But Lindsay is stealing all of my bread dough, even though the pain feels like boogie party dad shorts on the radio spectacle.

MAKE SENSE! PLEASE.

It is so hard. Why!!!! Why. Maybe because of Christopher Walken's slightly reserved affinity to the piano tuner. "You can call me Colin Phil." Myak? Yord. Vord!

GETTING DRUNKER, OK?

My tuberculosis. Marla Singer is a great smoker. God his lips did feel nice. 20 year old lips. 3 more than me. Ok, time to write my super violet pen-soaked worm fest. Wake up Medusa and slay the dragon. Time to start, be a man, mkay? Here goes: Edward Norton is hotter than handmade paper. I feel my brain deadening. Ed Norton is SCI-FI.

I am only on my 2nd page, OKAY?

People like randomness. So do I. I dig it like I dig lettuce. And what about that lettuce that goes bad? What the fuck? I want to kiss you again Myles. And seriously, if you fixed that crazy tongue of yours I would be totally down with a fuck or two.

(Huge letters) Spaghetticanit! Tuesday has PROMISE like a watercress cement job.

Huh-huh-huh-huhhuh-Honeycomb (cereal)

INDEX card! TWELVE. I think (new paragraph sign)

Colin has the right idea, right? I just realizedddddd h-h-h-how-wahh many right angles there are and in here, Right? Now?

Well, but seriously Myles, if you never touch a bran strand again I will be satisfied. Just fill me up with your DNA.

Love, MEGAn!

*I think I was trying to prove that I could remember big words, even if they make no sense when you put them next to each other.

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