Dear Onions,

I love you dearly. Mainly because you are cheap and you can live a long and healthy life in the bottom of the refridgerator, but also because I can chop you up and put you in anything and you will make it delicious. For example, last night when I was attempting to make my oh-god-is-it-payday-yet dinner, I used you to liven up my otherwise bland pasta-and-the-tiny-bit-of-sauce-left-in-the-jar meal.

However, again because I am poor, I do not have a cutting board to prepare you on. And my occasional use of a paper towel as cutting board substitute has not kept your scent from descending into my countertops. Therefore, when I prepared my lunch this morning (and wrapped my goodies in aluminum foil because the baggies ran out yesterday), your oniony smell got all over the outside of my entire lunch. And your smell is permeating my ENTIRE WORK AREA.

Don't get me wrong. We aren't breaking up, but you are going to have to do something to get back in my good graces.

Dear God of Happy Things and Rainbows,

It's been a hard week. A lonely cigarettes, long phone calls during peak hours, too much tv, lost, over-worked week.

I need a hug, direction, clean dishes, my porch, friends who understand I'm needy and codependent, more coffee in the mornings, and a plan.

If any of that can be helped, I'd appreciate it. And if not, it's cool. Help my mom pass her tests in the morning, and my sister remember to go to work, and everything else that my family/loved ones might be needing but not saying.

Dear Boyfriend,

It scares me the way I watch you. The way you look at frogs. The sound the frog made when it fell from the roof above the balcony. The way you crouched beside me while we waited for it to move, to come back to life, to be okay because we were both (even if only momentarily) in love with that frog. And that meant something.

I want more frogs. More of you. More times when you think a frog is a spider and you start planning how you'll protect me against the giant frog-sized spider that will undoubtedly attack us. More hugs. More me and you. More of a million things that no one else knows about.