too personal and not about Boston, really.

Wednesdays were designed to build character. Of this, I am sure.

I don’t much care what happened today, though—some good, some less than—because I came home at near 11 p.m. and had mail: Comcast bill to pay this month, my credit card bill, and a square letter with actual blue, hand-written ink.

Today I got a card from Heidi.

Heidi’s my BFF (an acronym I find revolting in any other context) from Utah. She and I met at UVU’s Writing Center and took an ass-kicking class together, and we’ll always be friends for a number of reasons: she is, without a doubt, one of the most genuine people I know. Sweet, kind, and way too hard on herself. Someone’s gotta keep her in check and I nominate me. Also, she’s seen me lose my temper and butterfly kick a garbage can down the school hallway. Okay, it wasn’t a butterfly kick; it was a generic side-kick only elevated by its motivating fury. Post-garbage can, Heidi and I cranked out final papers together and spent hours at the Barnes and Noble Starbucks working, chatting, and ranting over tea.

We keep in touch via e-mail, but everyone knows that a card is different. Mostly because I can so clearly see her with a squishy-grip pen composing the most direct and kindest of “thank yous”, and because her last-second decision to pass on a little “social update” likely underwent much debate before penning the exchange she outlined.

So now it’s on my board with a card from my adopted Serbian sister, a note from my sister, K, pictures of family and friends, concert and game tickets, and the string of beads my brother S gave me when he was 5. In Boston, I keep my heart on my wall.