Dear home,

I missed you I missed you I missed you.

I guess I didn't really realize how great it is to sleep uncomfortably on the living room chair until I couldn't for four whole days.

However, home, you seem to have let yourself go a bit.

You're a little dingy and dirty looking.

I know you missed me, but that's no excuse to stop keeping up with your hygine!

But I still accept you.

And I still missed you.

And I'm still so glad to be here!

Love,

Felicity

Dear hallway door,

Duck you. Seriously.

I just wanted to go asleep, but you had to creak and open and close until 1 am.

That was a really mean thing to do.

Because I couldn't fall asleep because of you but I didn't want to go to close you because you could've been opening and closing because of a serial killer who was trying to trick me.

So, I just stayed up, terrified, until the wind stopped and you finally shut up.

Thanks to you, I'm really really tired.

I hope you're happy about yourself.

With the burning anger that only a short-tempered 14 year old girl can posses,

Felicity

You,

You.

You're ruining her.

How dare you do this?

Why do you think it's okay?

Because it most definitely is not.

Stop it. Stop it right now. Or I might just...

implode.

Or punch you in the face. Whatever comes first.

I demand you to IMMEDIATELY cease and desist.

Stop your manipulative, sheepy attitude and ego-centric personality.

Go back to the old you.

For the sake of your so-called "best friend".

I'm not even sure I believe that she means that to you, the way your treat her.

  Who am I kidding? You'll never listen. You'll never even hear.

With disgust,

Felicity

Dear bowling ball,

TO THE LEFTTTTT.

Why don't you listen to me?

You need to go to the left, or whatever direction that I yell.

Go towards to bowling pins.

Not the gutter.

Honestly, you'd be much better off if you would just listen to me!

Whatever. You loss.

Actually, my loss.

But you failed, too.

Love,

Felicity

Dear fragile ones,

You are strong.

But, you fall hard when you fall.
After all, we all have porcelain fists sometimes.

You need to protect yourself.

Don't let the boys and girls break you.

You're better than them.

I love you.

Love,

Felicity

Dear procrastinators,

I thought about writing about you.

I'll do it later.

Love,

Felicity

Dear puppy,

It is NOT okay to eat my flip flop!

Especially when it is my favorite pair of flip-flops and you have to jump up on a chair to get them.

There is a REASON, dear puppy, that I  put them there.

Foolish dog child.

Anyways, I will forgive you THIS TIME because you are so adorable.

But next time, I WILL BE ENRAGED.

This is your FINAL WARNING.

Okay? Okay. Good.

All my love,

Felicity

Dear 'friends',

I am not a scapegoat. 

I am sick of receiving the blame for all of the things wrong with you because I said one thing wrong.

We are not in elementary school, darlings. It is not okay to yell and scream and fuss over nothing.

And it is certainly not the time to start being so petty.

It is actually the time to cease that behavior.

Honestly, grow up please? And let me repeat:

I am not a scapegoat.

Stop treating me as such.

Love and kisses,

Felicity

Dear kitten,

Oh, Fedora, you are just too cute.

I don't even know what to do about it.

You are just too cute. Too sweet. It gives me a stomach ache.

You're going to make me go into a diabetic coma or something.

Just, just stop. Stop being such an adorable kitten.

Actually, don't. Because once you're not an adorable kitten, you will be a cat.

And I don't want you to be a cat. But I don't want you to be such an adorable kitten.

There's just no way for you to win in this situation, is there?

Sorry,

Felicity

Dearest darlingest room,

I cleaned you the other day. And I'm really concerned about some of the things I found.

Such as:

broken glass

half-melted small plastic dog

can of paint

$5 worth of nickels (only concerned about this because NO ONE LIKES NICKELS)

stack of paper stuck together with some sort of red sticky liquid

bottles of water with stuff growing in them

chewed guitar picks

3 halfs of different pairs of head phones

 like, 20 cat food cans with moldy food in them

In short, room, I think you're a hoarder. And you need counseling.

We can work through this, room. We really can.

Love,

Felicity

Dear Hot Pockets,

Why do you never cook right?

Always too hot on the side, and then the middle is like ice.

Either that or I cook you too long and you explode, making my microwave totally disgusting.

It really upsets me, Hot Pocket. It hurts my feelings that you don't want to cook properly so I can eat you.

It makes me feel bad about my Hot Pocket eating abilities.

I wish we could get along, Hot Pocket.

Maybe we need a counseling session. How does Tuesday sound?

With unreturned love,

Felicity

Dear Ceramcoat makers,

 

Who thought it was a good idea to name a paint "Santa's Flesh"?

Do you know how creepy that is?

You know who the target audience for that paint would be?

Cannibals. Cannibals with a Christmas fetish.

Because no one wants to say that their paint is called "Santa's Flesh" except for cannibals with a Christmas fetish.

That's an extremely small demographic, Ceramcoat.

With More Concern than I had for MLCG,

Felicity

Dear "Must Love Cats" Guy,

You will now be refereed to as MLCG.

MLCG, is this what you want with your life? 

To go around the country, meeting crazy cat people and their cats and WRITING SONGS ABOUT IT?

Okay, it probably is. Because you LOVE cats. You ducking love cats. A bit too much.

I mean, I understand. Cats are fantastic animals.

But you're creepy. You're wicked creepy.

When I see your show, I just sit there gaping for a while.

Once your show is gone, you'll just have your money and your cats.

And you'll be a creepy, crazy, rich cat guy.

Is that what you want?

Who am I kidding? Of course it is.

With concern,

Felicity

Dear mouth,

You taste like onions.

My breath, smells like onions.

I hate onions.

I haven't had any onions, I had yogurt.

WHAT THE DUCK?

Confusably,

Felicity

Dear Script Frenzy,

I'm sorry that I haven't even started on you.

I was really motivated to do it... before I started to write.

I don't even have a plot.

So, unfortunately, I will say sorry in advance for not finishing you.

Love,

 Felicity

My dear ukulele,

You are an amazing instrument.
I am sorry that I named you Edward Cullen.
But, seriously, it fits. Just like him, you're sparkly, incredibly gay, and most people laugh at you.
Also, I'm sorry that you have a scratch from Olivia making you fall. Don't blame her. Actually, blame her. It's her fault.
I'm also sorry that there's a Cheerio inside of you and Sharpie on your tuning pegs.
That's my fault, but you can still blame Olivia.
I love you. I really do.
Sincerely,
Felicity