You just opened the door and came out of your room again and Ryan and I started saying, “Oh no, oh god no, oh god no more,” and you don’t seem to understand that this means you are drunk and we don’t want to play right now.
Kinsley probably agrees but hasn’t said anything. Stay tuned.
Love,
Chuck
Now that I’ve realized you managed to lock yourself out in the process of going over there, I know how to react: laughter and mild disbelief.
Love,
Chuck
I am not even sure how to react to you drunkenly going across the hall to help Aria, who is like twenty-five and ostensibly independent, with math.
Love,
Chuck
How am I supposed to let you get a puppy when you can’t fill my cat’s water dish when I go to Hamilton for the weekend??
Love,
Chuck
I don’t care how many more things you knock over, that is the last time I check on you tonight.
Love,
Chuck
I think you are drunk. Or you are stone cold sober and you are kissing my rat and yelling at me about how much you love him.
I um. I don’t even know.
Love,
Chuck
I like the routine we have in the morning: you get up after me and pack a bowl, I light a cigarette, and then you let me talk at you (I say at you instead of to you because I don’t know or care if you are listening or interested) for however long it takes for us to blaze.
I don’t know, it is just kind of comforting.
Love,
Chuck
