Dear Playwrights Festival

Dear FET Playwrights Festival,

For the first time, I will be locking my door when I go to sleep tonight.  Our apartment is awfully small, and sometimes it seems like there's no way out, so I don't want any of my four roommates going crazy and killing me.  Or any of my neighbors because they tend to walk into our room unannounced.

Emily and Lex, I don't think I'm going to be able to come to your apartment anymore.  Okay, that last statement was false.  It was for dramatic effect.

Also, I will not be going to Disney World anytime soon.  But that's because I'm poor and don't have a job or a place to live or anything, so vacations to Disney aren't really at the top of my priority list.  So now I'm pretty much just sad because I thought about Disney and now it's out of my grasp.

Oh, and Taylor's show was really good.  I also liked your lights.  And your face.  And your bottle of whiskey.  Taylor doesn't like compliments, so I'll stop there.

That is all.  Tomorrow is Cinco De Mayo.  SELF tried to tell me that I shouldn't eat a whole avocado at once, but since I clearly have no self restraint when it comes to avocados and things of that nature, I will disregard that advice completely.

Love,
Courtney

PS:  Chris Crowley, your show was good, don't worry.  Just messed up.  But still good.  I ain't hatin'. 

PPS:  Not that you're going to read this anyways.  So I guess that was a little unnecessary.

PPPS:  Sorry to the other two shows I didn't see.  I'm eighty five years old and it's past my bedtime.  Also, I had to get out of that hot box of cigarette smoke.  Blame show number three.