Diane,
Goddamn. I am sick of your antics. You took my cigarettes out of my purse and put them on my dresser just so Mom would see them. When I told her it was you, she said I was entirely too old to continue blaming things on an imaginary friend. She's really pissed. Now I'm on restriction and I can hear her crying to Daddy. I think they're going to send me to a fucking psychiatrist.
When we were little you were a whole lot more fun. Now you've become a real troublemaker. That thing you did with the dog was just mean, and when you materialize the poor thing hides under the bed. Truly, you are out of control and I believe you have a personality disorder. There was no call for you to cut all my panties in half.
I know my last dispatch to you was angry, but you deserved it. Get a grip for chrissakes.
You still have not returned my lipstick, which would be a gesture of good will on your part. I miss being able to talk to you, and promise that I will not slap you as I threated to do earlier.
Remember, dear, that I still have the power to sublimate (just learned that word in Chemistry) you straight into the atmosphere. Grow up some and let bygones be bygones. I maintain that you will no longer be allowed to borrow my clothes. However, I will pretend you a pair of old sweats and a t-shirt so you don't have to walk around naked.
Your imaginary sister,
Suzie
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Probably easier than reconciling with an imaginary God. *
Hah! Yes, the title suggests something a bit more spiritual than is actually is.
I believe Suzie. *
What Mathew said . *
Matthew, Tara - Thanks for reading. Poor Suzie's had a tough time recently. I'm beginning to wonder if Diane has a substance abuse problem.