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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.
*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.
Ramblings of a Medicated Lady: Words of Woe by Loria Taylor 
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