Dear friends

What follows is a letter I sent to some of my dearest friends over the holidays, and minus some info that could be useful to my enemies, I am posting it here in lieu of end-of-year updates and best-of lists which are still pending.

Dear friends, enemies, frenemies, badventists, sadventists, nonventists, interventionists, impressionists, expressionists, exhibitionists, and philbert,

After several years too long in an apartment I could not really afford and blowing through almost all of my savings I have finally moved to an apartment I can afford. I have a straight but otherwise unobjectionable roommate, a little porch, a nice view, good neighbors, an old, blind, deaf but stable cat, a little more stuff than space, and high hopes. Should you need my address to send me what I can only imagine will be glowing praise and positively gushing pro-James haiku, my new address is:

[redacted]

I should have moved two, maybe three, years ago, but high executive function has not exactly been a calling card lately. “Trying” in general has not been a thing lately for me. If you are receiving this email, you are valued, missed, and cherished as much as the oxford comma in this sentence, which is quite a lot. I stan the comma, oxford or otherwise, and sprinkle it liberally through all my work, much as one would sprinkle baco bits over a salad at potlucks. Remember potlucks? I do. 

That said, I am increasingly bored with not trying. It is boring. I am boring. So I am thinking about forming a committee to draft a proposal dedicated very seriously to examining the feasibility of maybe trying. I have not been tending my relationships well or forming new ones with particular alacrity and as I value my existing relationships and would like to feel the touch of another human being’s skin before the heat death of the universe this is probably something I need to change. I guess. 

Also on the docket are maybe having some sort of goals and/or purpose (a bigger porch would be nice), a community I feel good about belonging to, some sort of resolution to the existential, spiritual, and practical problems of living in this country, on this planet, in these pants, that have been leaving me more or less paralyzed lately. I might just cut straight through it all and start a cult. The robes would sparkle.

The truth is I have never felt I belonged anywhere since leaving Adventism, but I never felt I belonged there either. I always feel between things. Halfway between there and here, up and down, gay and straight, smart and stupid, and now that I am officially middle-aged that feeling has only intensified. I might be looking for church that is not church, if that makes sense. Community but not dogma. Intimate connection with quiet, private nooks. 

In the meantime, I am waiting for my cat to die. She is well cared for and still seems to be taking some joy in existence and my life does not necessarily need to stop like I am holding my breath, but somehow it does. It is difficult to care for pets in their senior years and I am not well suited for it and truly wish I were made of sterner stuff, for my own sake as well as hers. And yours. And everyone who relies on me to be functional and good. I will try. I want to try.

I don’t know, I am still trying to figure it all out. I would settle for figuring any little thing out. Moving to a place I can afford was a good start. That’s one thing. I am going to try and build on that momentum. 

I love you all. I hope you are getting through the holidays with your wits and spirits intact. I will be making an attempt to reach out more in the future, and should my beloved but challenging cat finally decide immortality is for chumps, you can expect some requests for slightly longer than usual visits from yours truly. That’s me. I’m yours truly.

Wow this letter takes some turns tonally doesn’t it? Wild.

It it my continued delight to count each and every one of you as friends. I look forward to new adventures in the year to come.

[redacted] (sometimes James) [redacted]