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I yelled at my brother because he wronged us, because he wronged me. My aunt is suffering through cancer treatment that will most likely result in her death, but the odds being what they are and her will to live being what it is, there’s no other option. I yelled at my brother because he wants to believe she doesn’t know what’s going on. That she’s drugged up. That she mindlessly drifts in and out of a slumber from which she remembers nothing.

 

She’s conscious, you idiot.

 

I realized that he wants to believe—and the rest of them as well—that she’s dying without pain. I think it’s cruel of me, but I tell him, no, she is not out of it and she feels lonely and unloved and how could you not call her ahead of time to say you changed your mind and weren’t going be there?

 

I don’t know what it’s like to be her. In my own narrow-mindedness, I think I would like being alone. It’s heartbreaking, though, to see someone alone who doesn’t want to be. To figure out that your friends and your family are no where to be found. That you have less than a handful of caring people who visit you and a niece you were never close to as your primary source of support.

 

So I yelled at my brother, because he has illusions of his own good-guy and godly grandeur. He will tell you about Jesus, if you want. He will invite you to church. He’ll tell you God will set you free, but I imagine he would look puzzled if you asked him if he actually follows the WWJD mentality. For example, would Jesus bail on His aunt? How would my brother have felt if he were left to rot within the confines of four white walls and a number on his back? The rest of my family, they will shoot the breeze with you. They’ll adamantly make promises and say they are 100% behind you…unless they are out any gas money to come see you.

 

So, there you’ll be. Alone when you don’t want to be. Unloved. A chore and a burden. Outright, no one even bothers to say you’re not a bother.

 

You are a bother. You will continue to be a bother. Can you die now and let us bury you in the mud where you won’t take up our time and energy?

 

So I’ve made matters worse, at least for him. Now in addition to my unaccommodating aunt and her silly sickness, I have inconvenienced my brother with my anger. Why do you have to be like that, he asks. I repeat his question with bitterness in my voice.

 

 

I hang up.

If I weren’t so self-involved, I’d ask you how you were. I’d ask you how you feel about the stimulus package and Oprah and landscaping and your family. I’d remember your birthday, and I’d say, Happy Birthday. I’d recognize you as someone not to be stepped on, someone worthy of common decency.

 

As it is, why would I consider you? I barely noticed you were there. I didn’t realize I’d told you the same story twice, but let’s face it, you could use the repetition. Of course, I don’t think of your impressions or how you might perceive me. Does it matter? Because you need answers for your simple mind, I’ll answer: no, it does not matter.

 

If I weren’t so self-involved, I’d forget about you and stop boring everyone with the details. I’d look outward and be more interested in what my real friends are doing, how they are. Instead, I say, can you believe him? I say, don’t you think my response was biting? I don’t see them in front of me, and that means I am not giving them common decency and maybe I deserve what I get.

 

As it is, I feel guilty. Sorry, all.

Due warning: this is NOT a creative or funny post. Unless you want to be subjected to paragraphs and paragraphs of endless venting and bitching, go ahead and move on to someone else’s blog and come back here soon. I adore you, dear reader; I just have issues that the medication is not smothering at the moment.

 

So my horoscope says I will be especially aggressive this Thursday and I think, oh poor world, you’re in for it today. Ask anyone. Ask Bryan. I stay aggressive. I stay offended.

 

(Okay, granted, Bryan is not the best person to ask because he truly is constantly offensive to me. He’s so judgmental and abrasive. For example, I invited him to come to my parents’ house this weekend and they are without electricity because of the ice storm and he was saying really appalling things like, “we can go up on Saturday instead of Friday, if that helps. I’ll help your mother in the kitchen.” I don’t think I’ve ever felt so berated in my life. Except for that time when Bryan was like, “medicatedlady, I’ll help you move, no problem.” Why can’t he stick to NICE, pleasant things like accusing me of rapid cycling when I am clearly unipolar?)

 

I have been short with my mother the last two nights because 1) she wouldn’t just tell me how the gas heat in her house worked, and 2) my father starts talking in the background and laughing loudly every time my mother is talking to me on the phone and she’s like, “did you hear what your daddy just said?” I tell her, “no, I’m on the phone with you.” What’s really awful about this is my mother is truly, truly the sweetest lady ever (ask anyone, ask Bryan).

 

And then I have *minor* resentment issues with the potential loves of my life because I want fire and sparks and someone who actually calls me once in a blue moon and who I don’t expect to just call me out of the blue one day to tell me he’s back in Japan and oh, he didn’t have a chance to tell me beforehand but I was a good person to “hang out” with. And then I’ll be angry. I’m already angry, a sort of a pre-emptive rage/resentment combo that brings up my rage/resentment concerning other assholes who have sinned against me. What keeps going through my head is I can’t even say we’re friends because I think I was just someone to kill time with. I’m apparently only worthy of being someone to kill time with and I am angry about it.

 

No. I’m bitter about it.

 

So, world, I am rooting for you. I sincerely hope you can withstand my rampage. I’ve had too much caffeine already, world. That’s probably not a good sign either. I am trying to stifle myself with lots of food and ice cream and creating toilet seat flair on facebook, but I don’t think it’s working. But, fear not, world, my next doctor’s appointment is tomorrow.

*Written by emerging poet extraordinaire, Straight Up Carol

To my dearest.

Fuck you for leaving me.  I actually loved you. 

I actually loved you and that is why I am hurting so much

even now after all this time.

You seem to be doing fine and I am still openly hurting.

Fuck you for not loving me enough
 
maybe you didn’t even love me at all. Fuck you.

My world is such: I no longer need ringtones for friends. I need more friends for my ringtones. Not only friends, but people who can be safely paired with the tone/intent of the ringtones. Apparently, what I need are a lot of people (specifically men) who:

  • Don’t bring me Anything But Down
  • Lallygag with U + Ur Hand
  • Really miss my hair in their face
  • Don’t recognize it’s too late to ‘pologize, it’s too late
  • Are Toxic
  • Will at some point find out that what goes around, goes around, goes around, comes all the way back around.

SOB with me

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