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Posted: February 18, 2012 in otiose
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“How was the shower?”
I want to call and ask.
I’d also like to utter, “I’m sorry.”

No one wants to see their kid the miserable
bitter
failure
that I am, so…I don’t call.

I get angry with my manager
because I think she sincerely wants to be friends
with me.

With equal sincerity, I don’t want friends.
At all.

The one thing I want to do is financially barred from me at the moment
so I get frustrated
with the spoiled rich kids
that constantly tell me that they’re self-sufficient.

No.
They’re not.

I don’t really hate them.
I just want them to shut up and leave me alone.
Reciprocity, I suppose.
The word still stings, but I suppose it’s what I crave.

I leave them alone with their delusions; I expect them to leave me to mine in turn…

Money is not really the problem anyway.
I honestly hope that other people are happy.
You.
I want you to be happy and successful and rich and beautiful and brilliant.
I miss you, and I’m disquietingly sorry that I can’t share the lighter moments.

I won’t call.

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