A world without objects is a sensible emptiness

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Open letters to my stuff:

Dear cellphone,

I realize that you are, at times, overworked, and it must be dreadful to have to endure Paige's abuse: the opening, the shutting, the haphazard button mashing.

But please, cellphone, come home. I miss you. Mostly I miss returning phone calls when I'm in the car, particularly during the long drive to and from Owen's school. It's really, really hard to talk on the phone at home, and dammit, I need you. OK? I admit it. I need you.

I'll treat you better. I'll keep you charged. I'll try to leave you in the same place all the time so you're never misplaced again. Just come back.

Yours in social isolation because I haven't returned a call in 3 weeks,

Ashley

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Dear upper thread on my sewing machine:

Enough with the slipping and the bunching already. You're ruining all my projects.

Yours in relief that many of the things I make are eventually turned right side out,

Ashley

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Dear future dishwasher and microwave,

Lately I have told a few people that hand washing dishes and warming milk on the stove really aren't that much more trouble and that we're getting used to being without two of the most convenient appliances in the kitchen. That is a lie. It's more trouble. I'm not used to it.

Go on sale already so we can buy you.

Yours in withdrawal from my nightly popcorn binge,

Ashley

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Dear markers:

When you see Mitch, roll. Roll far away. If he captures you anyway, and you find yourself being pulled down a wall or scribbled upon furniture, run out of ink.

Your willingness to cooperate could mean the difference between selling this house and murdering my husband because he doesn't have an office in which to chat with clients on speaker phone and because he keeps getting annoyed that the 15 month old squawks so frequently. As if anyone could keep a 15 month old from squawking.

Yours in disbelief that my son wrote his name on the toilet seat,

Ashley

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Dear kitty litter,

Change yourself. I hate you.

Not yours at all, whatsoever,

Ashley

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Dear work-issued laptop which I also use as my personal computer,

I just got an email from someone in IT. He says he needs to borrow you to run what he calls "inventory software." I don't know what that means, but could you please check yourself for anything embarrassing/inappropriate/overly personal before IT guy examines your innards?

And also back up the 5,034 family photos that are stored on you, 'cause I probably shouldn't be using you for that since you're a work computer.

Yours in hoping the IT guys doesn't open the folder marked "miscellaneous,"

Ashley