My sweet jellybean,

I can’t believe the nerve of some people. I’m sorry you had such a crappy day. People suck. No question. Who does she think she is? I mean, come on. Knock it off. I feel so bad for you. What the hell is wrong with people? I’ve been condemning people on your behalf for an hour.

I have an idea. Let’s run away. Before you poo-poo the idea, think about it. Why should running away be reserved for teenagers and dirty accountants?

Why can’t adults run away? It’s not like either one of us has any serious dependants to worry about. We’d have to take Murphy.

Wyoming. Let’s go to Wyoming. I haven’t been to Wyoming since before I had hair under my arms. Oh please, can’t we run away? I want to be a waiter. In a truckstop in some dustbowl of a town far from any city. We’ll make up new names, new identities, new histories. Get rid of all that troublesome history we have and make up some new history. And we’ll make new resumes too and I can be your fiancé. Well, until some hunk farmhand named Jethro fights me for your hand. I’ll even lose on purpose if you want. And we can go swimming in the swimming hole.

At first we’ll be all rough and arrogant but then we’ll learn to love the simple life and the simple folk and we’ll learn a valuable lesson in humility.

It will be like a soap opera where the young stars run away for the summer. It will always be sunny. There will be some sexual tension with Jethro. We’ll eat apple pie. And the jukebox won’t have any songs after Prince’s Purple Rain and we can play Raspberry Beret while we’re cleaning up at night.

No, I suppose it won’t happen. But right now, I can’t think of a good reason not to. Just say the word, and we’ll be off.

I know you say you’re Ok. I know you don’t want me to worry about you and I don’t because I know you’re strong. I’m glad you still share your day with me, jb.

SS