I have no idea why. Maybe I am the sinner that can never be saved.

This... guy. I write for him, knowing well he'll never read it, never realize how profound of an impact he has made on me.

This is absurd. Absolutely absurd! I hardly know this guy! All I know is his name, general living vicinity, and blog address, and he thinks he can come along and steal my interest? Hussy. You slut of a man.

You're just... intriguing. And adorable, we musn't forget that.

And you're not pathetic. You're a twenty-something, which is absolutely nothing to be ashamed about. You're going to fuck up, just as I will, and Heather will, and Allan will. We're twenty-somethings, dude. Life is really beginning. We're bound to fuck up.

You're an awesome, considerate, intelligent person. Not to be cliche, dear, but...

"You'll get mixed up, of course, as you already know. You'll get mixed up with many strange birds as you go. So be sure when you step. Step with care and great tact and remember that life's a Great Balancing Act. Just never forget to be dexterous and deft. And never mix up your right foot with your left.

And will you succeed? Yes! You will, indeed! (98 and 3 / 4 percent guaranteed.)

KID, YOU'LL MOVE MOUNTAINS!"

Seuss knows it too, and he's dead.

You'll get there. We all will.

And suddenly I wonder if I'm writing this to Joe anymore. I think this may be to Corey. I think it may even be to myself. Listen, Jones. You're a smart girl. You've got an incredibly bright mind and a great head on your shoulders. You're lost.

You're twenty.

You don't fit in? Fuck 'em. If they can't see you like you see yourself, then they aren't the people you want to be around anyway.

Maybe this is what confidence feels like. Knowing you're pretty much the shit? Well damn. It feels good.