My JooJooBee,

I wrote a lot this week for work. Some 16-hour days.

I loved it. I like to work. I like to write.

I wrote several ad campaigns. I liked some at first, but then — 

Like screenwriting, it’s an art. Like any art, it takes years to master.

I’m working hard at it. I’m working hard at many things still trying not to do too much.

At the same time I write letters to you in my head. All week. Every week.

(Who knows if they’re art. It’s not for me to decide.)

This reminds me:

In his Easter sermon, the rector said many things I thought I would say.

If these letters start to sound like sermons, slap me.

I’m not a man on a mission. I’m a man who is smitten.

In old movies husbands keep pictures of their wives on their desks.

(Do people still do that?)

I keep your photo on my desktop.

(Does that make me old fashioned?)

It’s my favorite one.

I won’t tell you which it is but I’ll tell you why it is.

I like it because it shows the inside on the outside.

In the picture, they’re the same.

(You’re not my wallpaper I just want to make that clear…)

I love this picture.

This week I thought:

I can write a sentence as beautifully as any living writer, in any language.

Can and have.

(I have a bit of an ego.)

In fact if I got arrested, my fingerprints would look like sentences.

For that reason, I’ve changed my approach lately.

I realize I need to tell a story that well too.

So I think more about stories than sentences now.

I have all the stories I’ve told you about and more.

I want to finish my story quickly.

That isn’t my life anymore. My life is happening now.

I have other stories I want to tell too.

(They will be so much easier!)

Besides telling stories better, I want to write them more efficiently.

I have found ways to do that, which I’ll share.

I go from writing for myself to writing for work like moving between rooms in a house.

Writing feels like home.

(You feel like home.)

This week I dreamed you disappeared from my life.

I felt devastated, despondent…

When I woke up, you hadn’t left.

(Thank my sweet God.)

Everyone has irrational fears.

We are all only human.

I talk to you at night before I sleep.

Not full conversations, just reminders.

(I’m not that crazy.)

I say your mantra for you too sometimes. —You are… You are… You will be…

(I figure you forget. It should work. Consider it an experiment!)

I don’t know why I just thought of this:

My editor at work keeps correcting me.

She keeps reminding me that “data” is plural: “these data,” not “this data.”

I usually ignore her but this time I messaged her —Omnes vincere no potes.

(—You can’t win them all.)

I thought that was funny.

This is my life too.

Now I must break a promise I made, to myself.

I wanted to wait, to tell you in person but — 

You should know:

I want you

I need you

I miss you

I love you

(I love you,

I love you,

I love you)

I have all along.

I want to keep you, love you, and care for you always.

I plan to. If you’ll let me.

You needed to hear it, didn’t you?

(I know, I’m dumb sometimes.)

Anyways now you have it in writing.

As usual I have so much more I want to tell you — but what can I say after that?

— Your Fortune Cookie

P.S. Actually now that I’ve told you, I won’t stop telling you.