Why I’m the Worst Pen Pal Ever

I still haven’t responded to Garry’s letter…shit. He sent it like three weeks ago. I was intending on writing him a quick message to explain I’d pretty much be off the face of the planet for the 8 week I’m in New York…and then forgot. I got engaged, graduated from college, and got too caught up in seeing everyone before leaving to remember to sit down and write a letter.

Even now I could be writing him, but instead I’m writing this post. I don’t know what to say. Do I need to apologize for being so inaccessible? Or is it understood that we’re pen pals and there are things going on that make me unable to respond right away? When I get a second to breathe and remember that I have to write my letter, I get such a guilty feeling in my gut picturing him waiting day after day for a letter.

This is why I’m the worst pen pal ever.

As soon as I close this post I’ll force myself to sit down and write. He wants a copy of my capstone project, which I offered up to him, and I have to get from home when I’m there this weekend. I think I’m regretting that offer. My story is nonfiction and has a lot of personal anecdotes/emotions/family stuff in it. I know I don’t need to be on guard around him because….he’s in Cali, in a maximum security prison, where one guy successfully escaped and disappeared years ago. There’s no way he could find me or tell the people I know what I wrote about in my story.

But still. Is it dangerous? I talk a lot about the neighborhood I grew up in, mention the street name, the town, he knows I’m from Jersey.

But duh. My address is on the return label when I send him my letters, and, duh, he mails me letters. He knows where I live. Where my family is. If he cared enough to do something about it (and what would he possibly do?) it’d happen already.

Where is this paranoia coming from?! I’ve been in NYC for almost two weeks. I guess my guards just up. I’ve also been under a lot of stress with the program, it’s very intense and I got put in a position I know nothing about (I’m a words girl, obviously, I know nothing about numbers), and now I’m the publisher/ad sales director for a fake launch magazine brand. Um, yeah, just the title is enough to make my head throb. Maybe if I explain to him how intense my life is right now he’d forgive me for being late on my letter.

Do I need forgiveness from a prisoner?

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