Conversations with Liz

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Dammit, Liz.  You should be here.
Thanksgiving is a week away and this time of year is different since you left.   Everything is different.  I’m different.  Life is different.  And if you were here, things would be the same.  I’d have that hilarious/obnoxious spark you loved so much.  I’m not sure if anyone else misses it, but I sure do.
My head hurts.
In an effort to feel alive, I took in too many stimulants today.  You know how it is, if I’m going to have to be awake, I’d better feel alive!  I know, I know, I need to cut it out before I have a heart attack.

My job is the same and it still sucks.
I’m in the midst of a mass mail-out of our office’s latest  report /publication about the elderly community.  It’s an entire report about the oldest people in America.   I’m even thanked in the Acknowledgements section, for having verified all the data.

But anyway, you should be here so I can tell you all this in person, or at least on the phone.
I miss you so bad, somedays are very difficult.
Sometimes I imagine that you are still alive, sitting at home right now in Dale City.  Watching tv or cooking dinner.  “What should I make for dinner tonight?” you’d ask.  And usually I’d suggest we have crab legs and shrimp night again very soon.

All I have is things to say to you.  I can’t write to anyone but you.

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