i kind of hate you

I guess you- whoever you are, reading this- think I'm talking directly to you. Well, like the average Little Black Book entry it's actually directed to several people at once, and bound to change throughout the post. But you'll never know. It all depends on where the words lead me...

I wish sometimes you weren't around. Tiptoe. I wish that I wasn't such a closed-mouth-fool around you. Do you realize what you're doing to me? Can you hear through thin walls that every night I go through my day and try to figure out what I did wrong? Doesn't anyone notice these things? Or would you rather not know?

I'm sorry. Let me grab my smile so that I can protect you from the truth you never wanted to hear.

Especially there. It was more than a year and a half ago but these things stick. And back again we go! Wendy's, anyone? Or maybe dinuguan.

I should never have said anything. You see, in your case, there's really no wrong to what happened. But in mine, I could have happily kept my mouth shut for forever. Gotten married. Had kids. Never told a soul but maybe a few people I trust. But NOO. The mouth opens the brain gets carried away the bitterness never leaves and I wishwishwishwishWISH! That I could leave that behind.

You probably have no idea what I'm talking about. Neither do I.

Wow, what a great riff.

Rift.

Drift.

I remember I used to worry about "drifting" a lot. "We can't drift! PULL HER BACK!!!!!" And yet it was probably better in the end, though painful. Why did I keep trying to preserve what she didn't want? Jackass.

I know a lot of jackasses. Intolerance. Insecurity. I should talk about insecurity, right? But it's true. Suddenly half the people I know are people I wish I could beat the crap out of.

But ask plgy and you'll get a different view. They haven't turned into people I want to beat the crap out of, I just like imagining that I could hurt you. Give all the shit you gave me ten times over then piss on your face and throw you in the pond with a rice bag tied to your skinny/fat neck.

But then the pond would smell worse and I would go to jail. So instead, I'm going to sit quietly- don't move!- and clear my face so that no one can tell I'm seeing you ripped limb from limb behind my eyelids. That I'm laughing while it's happening. That I'm simultaneously shaking with rage.

Squeeze my fists.

Nothing's happening there, by the way. I know you think there is, walking in on a laugh. But there isn't! It's a growing friendship. And a difficult one, not because it's unwanted but because it comes with baggage. We all cart our baggage around. Mine fits in a pen. Yours fits in a clock. Yours fits in file folder. Travel sized convience, like mini shampoo or tiny brushes.

Bell!

Hell.

Do you think there's a hell? Today I said, "I think the ____ can burn in hell." I think you can too.

Isolation.

Please, end this.