I Am Not Your Jane is an epistolary fiction project.

Dear Sam, #10

Re: Dog injuries

You have a cable box? What are you, 80?

I am kidding. I also have a cable box. We can be ancient together. At least compared to my niece, who is in high school and recently asked me if they had YouTube in the ‘90s. I have a lot to explain to her, including that if we’d had YouTube in the ‘90s, I would have embarrassed myself miserably by performing and recording my junior high school poetry in my bedroom, and I would probably have abandoned the internet and gone to live off the grid by now, purely out of fear that I would accidentally see myself reading “but is it aerobic exercise / if my heart is pounding because of you” in front of a Dawson’s Creek poster and literally die of shame. RIP, me. Cause of death: Too Corny To Live.

I love dogs! I don’t have one, for a variety of logistical reasons, but I am a big fan. Eight pounds is a really small dog — what kind?

Also: WHAT? Your Jane left her dog behind when you broke up? HHWWHHAAAT?

Appalled Jane

Dear Jane, #9