Tuesday, November 23, 2004
The dam breaks.
Enough. Just stop it. Stop droning on to me with your stupid, STUPID stories. They're not even interesting. Just stop. I don't want to hear about your delinquent sister and how she's living the life you're too guilty or jealous to live. I don't want to hear about how you pay for every dinner with your selfish boyfriend. I don't want to hear about how hard you have it. I don't. I don't -- repeat: I don't care.
Maybe I would care if you'd just shut up and listen to me. Why do you even talk? You want a "good listener"? Fuck that. You want approval. Well, I'm sick of it. From now on, I'm telling you what I think and what to do. Don't like it? Then stop. Just turn around and stop talking -- you with the stupid stories of everyone working against you or how annoying your family is: ever realize you accurately represent that family?
Stop telling me that I can write about your life if I ever run out of story ideas. I won't. I have a hard enough time writing the stuff I want to write, much less your stupid, STUPID stories of what it's like to be a selfish, supposedly marginalized woman of the modern day. I don't care that you don't like where you live or that your neighborhood is loud. Your neighbor got robbed? That's life. That's their life. Stop acting like it's your struggle just because you don't have a life of your own. Go out and get a life of your own and stop flirting with that guy right in front of me and acting like you're being polite. We could all see you adjust your bra.
Next time, when you think "Oh! Will should know this!" Just stop. Stop and count: 10 . . . 9 . . . 8 . . . 7 . . . 6 . . . 5 . . . 4 . . . 3 . . . 2 . . . 1 . . . . and then think to yourself: "Maybe this isn't as important as I think it is. Maybe I won't even remember this happened 30 days from now. Maybe I'm overreacting. Maybe I'm not the big slice of salami that I think I am." Because you're not. You're not the big slice of salami that you think you are. You're the parsley. Annoying, nearly tasteless, and you take up valuable space on the plate.
Maybe I would care if you'd just shut up and listen to me. Why do you even talk? You want a "good listener"? Fuck that. You want approval. Well, I'm sick of it. From now on, I'm telling you what I think and what to do. Don't like it? Then stop. Just turn around and stop talking -- you with the stupid stories of everyone working against you or how annoying your family is: ever realize you accurately represent that family?
Stop telling me that I can write about your life if I ever run out of story ideas. I won't. I have a hard enough time writing the stuff I want to write, much less your stupid, STUPID stories of what it's like to be a selfish, supposedly marginalized woman of the modern day. I don't care that you don't like where you live or that your neighborhood is loud. Your neighbor got robbed? That's life. That's their life. Stop acting like it's your struggle just because you don't have a life of your own. Go out and get a life of your own and stop flirting with that guy right in front of me and acting like you're being polite. We could all see you adjust your bra.
Next time, when you think "Oh! Will should know this!" Just stop. Stop and count: 10 . . . 9 . . . 8 . . . 7 . . . 6 . . . 5 . . . 4 . . . 3 . . . 2 . . . 1 . . . . and then think to yourself: "Maybe this isn't as important as I think it is. Maybe I won't even remember this happened 30 days from now. Maybe I'm overreacting. Maybe I'm not the big slice of salami that I think I am." Because you're not. You're not the big slice of salami that you think you are. You're the parsley. Annoying, nearly tasteless, and you take up valuable space on the plate.
