To the Owner of the Brown Leather Jacket,

Today is Saturday, yet really Sunday. Make sense? It didn't to me either for a while, but now Friday night I get excited for Church in the morning. I want to write you back on my blog, because let's be honest, I like to copy you. After church today I sat out on the steps that in 3 1/2 months you will sit on. I had to sit in the shade because the sun was so hot and I didn't want to melt. I miss fall in Utah. But that's not why I'm writing you back.
I'm so happy for you that you're all over the world. You've seen so many places I want to go, but I think after next April you need to come back to Provo for a little while. And you need to stay. I'm all better now, though. It's not like the sick where I would stay congested for weeks and have to sleep out in our living room, but you'd always sleep out there with me. Usually on the couch. In that room is also where Sara and I hid from you behind the curtains to try and scare you. It's where we sat alone at 1:30 am watching Marley and Me, crying. The same room with the window you leaned out of and sang "Blackbird" to people on the sidewalk below. Or when I left to the Grand Canyon with my dad, and as I got to the car I realized I forgot something. I yelled your name, and you opened that same window to throw the Vitamin Water down three flights, knocking me to the ground. Or the unmentionable drawings that occured there. I'm still trying to forget about those.
But I feel better. I am healthy and not dying. At least not from diabetes. Yesterday I woke up and ran 5 miles. I would have ran more but no one wants to. I figure if I keep running, maybe I can stay ahead of the things that are wrong with my body. So far, it's working. I haven't gone low while I'm here, at least in the mornings. I don't think anyone here would be there to throw a snickers at me, or take the mop outside if I told them to. And they see me carry my insulin around everywhere. In Provo I could hide it. People could know me for months and not know I had diabetes. But here it's like I pretty much stood up in the cafeteria yelling, "I HAVE DIABETES!" That is at least how it felt when really all I do is pull out my pen and shoot up. Like a druggie, yes. But quickly people notice, and ask, and I don't mind. I like it more than the people who look and turn away. I carry my insulin around everywhere with me. Sometimes in my pocket, othertimes clipped onto my skirt, and my friends here tell me it's always in my mouth. "Take your insulin out of your mouth!" Lauren told me the other day. I don't keep it as much of a secret here.
When we get older you're going to be in Oregon. or Paris. but probably London. I don't know where I'll be, but it'll probably be somewhere in the U.S., that is one thing I know. I won't be drifting down the river, like your leaf, going away from you. If that happens, just accio me back. Cause I think you're like my horcrux, and I want to see the pillowcases in your future home. And the pictures of us. xoxo.

ps. even though my blog is public now, you still know I invited you to read it before. FLIP