In this fictitious world all reality twists

Dear Santa,

I know, you're probably surprised to hear from me. If I remember correctly, the last time I wrote to you was when Aladdin was in theaters and Bop-It! was my newest favorite toy. And even for a couple years before the break, you probably sensed that my heart wasn't really in it. For years I'd noticed that the gifts that you dropped off at my mom's house were different from the ones you left at my dad's (One would be wrapped, the other not. One signed, the other not), but I was able to put that aside for a while. As soon as my mom started signing packages from you as To Linda, From "Santa", though, I figured there was no real need for our one-sided correspondence to continue.

But that's all behind us. As a worldly woman of the 21st century, I realize now that a little disillusionment is no reason to epistolarily neglect my largest and jolliest Arctic-dwelling friend.

As you can imagine, I'm rusty at this, but I remember enough to suppose that you're expecting some sort of wish list from me. Lucky for you (or more lucky for your elves-of-burden), my family should already be taking care of most of my material needs. Besides, if your toy factory is still anything like I imagined it to be when I was ten, you'd probably be severely ill-equipped to meet my demands anyway.

No, at this point what I'm asking for are things I need from you--you and whatever magic you appear to have, making reindeers fly and defying time and space and all that. Where does that come from, anyway? You're never pictured as having any kind of wand or Gandalf-staff. To my knowledge you don't know incantations, or fundamentalist Christians would hate you even more than they already do. Maybe you're like Samson, with the power in the beard? I digress.

You're pretty good at navigation, seeing as you direct yourself to every child-dwelling family who wants you to show up, so for the first item on my list, I want you to share some of that directionality. Put me on a path, Santa. Is being an English professor really what I should set my sights on, or is that just a cop-out for someone too scared to wander too far from grades and summer breaks? And if I do go to grad school, where do I go? Midwest? West coast? Help me out.

Secondly, I need you to do your part to fight global warming. I'm sure you've noticed that the North Pole is starting to melt out from under you, so you're probably concerned. As you may or may not know, much of the problem is caused by vehicles, be it the factories that create them or the oil needed to run them. You yourself, on the other hand, are obviously oil-independent and sitting on an energy resource untapped by the rest of the world, are you not? Essentially, by not disseminating this useful information, you are single-handedly keeping our troops in Iraq and perpetuating conflict in the Middle East. Sharing is caring, Santa. At the very least, you need to let the rest of us in the loop before your workshop turns into Sea World.

Lastly, a simple favor. For the love of God, don't hand out any more copies of Twilight, no matter how many children asked you for it. The insanity needs to end.

And that, Santa, is it. On behalf of my dad, though, I'd like to ask for a Wii. Merry Christmas.

Sincerely,
"Linda"