I've recently encountered a period in which people from my past are contacting me out of the blue. One of whom I last spoke to over 5 years ago. Some are welcome contacts, some are not; some forgave and have been forgiven, some have not.

Part of me wants to scream, "What the fuck?!" at the top of my lungs from the highest and windiest building.

These men are tearing away at my imagination. Much like children whose fathers have left them, I've concocted wild stories about their whereabouts: "He became a physicist and moved to Russia on a top secret mission."

"He became handsome, grew a set, and married a supermodel."

All my stories are very flattering, I assure you. I'm not the kind of person who gets off on: "He's homeless and living in an alley with a strangely long beard."

Maybe it's because I'm not vengeful. Maybe it's because I'm currently under the influence and don't know what is or is not good for me at this particular moment. (Regardless of my inebriation, I do possess impeccable grammar skills.)

Their real stories are much sadder than what I've made up for them. Several are graduated from college and living at home. One still pines for me with the same intensity that he did the one night in my life I've spent with him. One is unemployed, just out of rehab.

They should have just let me be so I could continue with, "He works on Wall Street and has both a car and a driver," not "Rehab was bitchin."

Introspectively, is my life any better? Sure I'm financially independent and don't live in the same city as my parents, live in a lovely apartment with the best roommate I could have wished for BUT I hate my job a little more every hour I spend there; I don't think I have a "true" girlfriend and my dog might hate me.

But, in the end, I'll live... somehow I always do... and I'm confident in that fact. So, in the meantime, I'll just continue thinking you're an astronaut on a space mission making an important discovery... if that's alright with you.