"Day" Four

Now we’re cooking with gas. Well, I’m not; my range is electric. But maybe you are. What are you doing, anyhow? I have the vaguest of ideas, but neither the curiosity nor the wherewithal to inquire further. Not that you’d answer anyway, “communication” not being what best recommends you. Of course, this isn’t precisely true, it being a conscious decision on your part, but wouldn’t it have been better to have just said I never loved you when that’s what you meant anyway? Not that I’m dwelling, not now anyway. But man, I can hold a grudge with the best of them--no, better than the best of them--and this particular grudge, well, let’s just say it’s empowering this high horse I’m prettily perched upon. I feel so damn smug when I thing of you it’s laughable. Ha. Ha ha.

So let’s turn back to you for a minute, not that I know you, at all, but I once knew people like you, or a person at least, all witty and pretty and bright. You know, it took me a long time to figure out why you so vehemently placed the blame on me, why you felt the need to fabricate transgressions some plausible but most disturbing and just plain hurtful. Truth is, I still haven’t figured it out, but I did eventually realize that it’s not my problem, it’s yours, and it’s especially not my problem you’re an asshole. Is that what you are? Have you even figured that out yet? Because I think you have, and though you may not like what you’ve discovered you are what you are. You can choose to do or not do, say or not say, but it’s still there, eating away at your insides, reminding you what’s what. What the hell am I even talking about? I DON’T KNOW.

It’s been a long week.