Dear Rob.

[Reading on the porch in a pair of massive bell bottom cords with coffee from Strawberry Street.]

So far, I’d say the hardest thing is the time difference. What a trip! Since I am so accustomed to waking up alone, shuffling into the living room and peering around the doorway angrily at you and demanding you tell me how long you’ve been awake, what you’ve done, and why you didn’t wake me up, it’s funny to have a good four and a half hours under my belt until I hear from you.

And, yes, my competitive spirit stretches across time zones.

Lately:

wearing bellbottom corduroys every day, sometimes to bed;

listening to my Best of the Byrds vinyl non-stop;

getting weird, amateur-style hangovers acquired through newfound love of television and bottles of wine that aren’t automatically split in half just via your presence;

the kitchen smells like a Greek food fart ever since I brought home leftover gyros you would have never permitted entrance into the apartment (victory!) and haven’t thrown out yet;

and, Eli has turned into a total tyrant, shredding bags of cough drops, putting 4 tooth mark punctures into my brand new toothpaste tube, knocking over my milk glass in the middle of the night, etcetera, etcetera.

Tonight:

rode bike to ghetto Krogs for beers and might have a resulting flat tire, but not sure, can I text you a photo of it?;

meeting Kerry at Curbside for burgers and beer! My bike accoutrements are sure to be humbled by hers.

Hope you’re enjoying OR as much as I think you are. I’m sending you a Team Jacob t-shirt along with some mail you might need, and a few bars of dark chocolate to eat with your salty tears! Jk, jk. Keep up the good work and say hi to everyone for me!

-Carey