You ever write a letter to someone with absolutely no intention of ever sending it? I have. I’ve done this a lot in my lifetime, actually. The ‘drafts’ section of my email account reads like a who’s who of people who’ve made me mad or made me cry. Or both. Usually both.

I find it cathartic. And because I’m a writer, it’s the primary way for me to gather my thoughts, paint a word picture with them…and eviscerate someone with sarcasm, if necessary. Most of the time, I consider sending it for a second or two, reconsider this as folly, and go on to do something else. Like looking up really awesome meatball appetizer recipes online.

Because by then, I’ve had my say. All’s well that ends well, and the offending person is none the wiser. My uglier thoughts are now out there in the ether, so to the person in question, I can be cool. Normal. Provide grace where grace is due. Get over it, get on with it, and generally be the best version of myself I can be. Giving in to anger and blasting someone only accomplishes staining me. My behavior is what I control, not theirs.

Riiiigggght. See, that’s what I thought before the night of February 22nd. After that, I told myself, all bets are off. At first, it was all so raw that I couldn’t even write anything down. But then, I found out the identity of the ‘woman’ that Honey had left me for. So. Some of these letters went, and some did not, but regardless, this is where The Dead Letter Office was born.

Please enjoy some of my darkest moments for your entertainment. No really, go ahead. I hope you can live with yourself.