A Public Self Evaluation and Humiliation
About three years ago I watched Her, another movie about love starring Joaquin Phoenix and Scarlett Johansson’s raspy voice. Between themes of love and artificial intelligence some good things came from the movie. Can’t decide what aspect of the movie I liked most, though. Definitely between the dead cat phone sex scene and the fact that Theodore Twombly’s (Joaquin Phoenix) job was a letter writer.
Every day he’d come into his office and write letters for people who were too lazy to write letters for their loved ones. Fucking pathetic assholes.
God, I hate when people lack the ability to share their emotions with those close to them and resort to paying others to do it for them. Hell, I think I have more ability than that. I decided that I should write letters.
“Julia” was the title of a letter I wrote, she had been the recipient of zero good letters before, so I knew any good letter from any mediocre writer would make her happy. Kind of indecent of me to think of her like a bruised potato, but it was easy and I wanted fries. Lie after lie I wrote in the letter, and she ate that shit up.
Most of my guilt comes from this next part though. Near the end of the letter, she got sadder and sadder, and I asked why and she said it was because I was such a great writer and she wanted great letters forever. Oh fuck.
“Please write me letters forever, they’re all I want.”
Quitting now seems like the right thing to do, especially since I know I have the potential to be a great letter writer like Theodore, but I can’t stop and I want to write so many more letters to so many different people. Really what I want is a reaction from people reading my letters not some need to constantly keep writing them to the same person. So I decided to come clean and tell her that I had lead her on.
Tears rolled down her face, she slammed her fist into my right shoulder, it popped. Under very few circumstances is abuse okay, but I admit, I deserved it because I wrote her a fucking good ass letter.
Visually the letter wasn’t appealing, but internally it meant a lot, kind of like this letter I’m writing to myself. Well, now its over. eXactly what I wanted. Yes, you’re a good fucking letter writer. Zebra.
Anthony Jauregui, 23
Half Bad Ass, Half Phony