Dear Protectors,

If there is some aspect of your spirit that is disinclined with the title, please forgive me. I use it as an umbrella term and suspect you are like the umbrella someone once suggested I not leave home without. I’ve attempted to heed your advice on many things but admittedly some information I’ve ignored and not because I don’t think it’s reliable.

I’m just somewhat exhausted and if I’m honest, often sad, not seasonally, nor clinically, just perpetually. It’s a mental flight of fancy that permits me to wear a black dress in attendance to all thoughts. Sometimes I add glitter because my sorrow is admittedly fancy and enjoys carrying an element of bling. Also, black is slimming, and if I pose at Occipital Place, thoughts from around the G-lobe line up like I’m giving money away, just to visit with me. Not to toot my own horn or anything, but I’m pretty popular at Temp-Lobe Landing. So popular in fact, it’s become a national relic, and I’m an endangered species.

So I can understand why you want to protect me. However, I’m not sure what the guards are doing at Hypo Avenue because thoughts keep finding ways to get in. Even though it’s the shortest street, they bring enough food and drink for everyone to consume till the end of times. I’m not annoyed or anything. I just wanted you to know what was going on behind the scenes. I didn’t know if you were paying them by the hour, or on commission or something and I’d hate for you to waste your money. Besides, I’m pretty sure they’re spending it at the grocery store.

Sometimes I feel your attempts to help might be a lost cause. I think the best you can do for an endangered species is to keep them away from just about everything. And trust me, I’ve tried that myself, but the infiltrators keep leading me to the Motor Cortex Dealership where I always get punished and sent home with diarrhea.

This probably doesn’t even sound like a letter of thanks, but it is. It’s in part because of the black dress, so even my gratitude seems a little dark. I only wear the white dress when I’m fighting and though it works exceptionally well, it always gets soaked in blood. Once a week, I pick up a new set of dresses at Stem Avenue, where some of those bastards actually attempt to climb and break the Spinal Pole. It’s a smart move if you ask me because it’s another perpetual battle that seems always to catch me wearing absolutely nothing.

Obviously, I have naked moments too and never know whether to run and hide or stand my ground and scream. You probably notice the mix, but it’s from indecision that’s not even mine. I already know the way out of this godforsaken prison, and I know you do too.

So again, thank you for your protection and for keeping the caravan to Freedom Shore on standby. I sleep as little as possible, in order not to miss the flash of Eden’s light, your signal to come home.