Monday, March 28, 2011


This is a post for you, about you, and because of you. You know who you are, and you know what you do to me. You are the sole reason that I eschewed another night of drinking, so I could sit down in this coffin I call my apartment, and write this post for/to/about you. I hope that makes you happy, and I hope it makes you sad. I doubt it will make you either, because you don't read this blog anymore, or at least I don't think you do. You wouldn't tell me if you did, and I certainly learned long ago not to ask you questions I don't already know the answer to. 

You enjoyed giving me answers I wasn't expecting, and I loved and hated you for it. You know I don't like surprises, so you would go out of your way to surprise me as often as possible. It drove me mad, but I suspect that was the point.  I wanted to know everything about you, and I found out quite a lot, but not all. You never told anyone the whole story, no you preferred to share a bit of your stories with several of us, enjoying being the only one who knew all the details of the plot. And your life, even when seen from a distance, had several plots. You were the only one who knew the whole plot, and I don't think that was very fair to the rest of us.

Not that you give, or ever gave, a shit about being fair. You were one of the most unfair people I ever met.  Yet you could do the most complicated favour for people, think nothing of it, and ask nothing in return.  How you managed to be both unfair and generous is a mystery that I will never solve. In fact, you are a mystery I will never solve, not for lack of trying mind you, but for a fundamental lack of intelligence. You are much smarter than I ever will be, or aspire to be for that matter. Your kind of intelligence must be frightening to possess. I wouldn't know because I am not that smart, and you did a fairly good job of hiding (for the most part) how super-intelligent you really are. 

It was that intelligence that is one of your most endearing qualities, and that makes you an insufferable asshole.  Not that you care or cared what I, or anyone else thinks of you. You are your own judge and jury, and I am just beginning to realize how sweet that is. It is the world's revenge upon you. The world you give a shit less about, gets to sit back and watch you attempt to live up to your own expectations, knowing full well you will never be able to.  That gives me great joy, and I hope you know that.  I could never, ever in my wildest, spite-filled moments damage you as much as you have damaged yourself.  I am, when I am in a good mood, sorry for that, but I also think you deserve all the bad things you do to yourself. 

You still make me furious, sad, and extremely happy on any given day that I have the pleasure/misfortune to spend with you.  I still spend time with you, even if it is only in my head, and I recall the awful things you would say to me, about me, and in front of me with amazing clarity.  For that I should thank you, and I should tell you to burn in hell, but I know that I won't do either. It wouldn't do any good even if I tried. Your opinion of me mattered so much that it hurt, and yet I found myself jealous of you in the strangest of ways. When you weren't around I wondered what you were doing, but sometimes when you were around, I wanted you to be on the moon as far away from me as you could get.  I sometimes think of you as carrot cake, an abomination that should not exist in nature, and yet here you are, a living, breathing, insult to that idea. 

I wonder why we became, how we remain, and why we will always be 'friends.' To give you up would cause me either the greatest pain in my life or would cause be to suddenly becomes the happiest rodeo clown this side of the Mississippi. However, I guess I will never know, because I have no intention of giving you up, and I fairly certain that you, even though you won't admit it, like having me around. Who doesn't like a slave/foil/partner in crime to have around for festive occasions? And so, here we are in this crazy life together, for we are together even if not physically, and we will remain that way. Because we are both to stubborn or too stupid, I am not sure which, to realize that we probably aren't that good for each other. For in spite of your solitary nature, I think you need someone like me around. Someone who spends all this time thinking about you enough to write this epic length blog post about/to you, even though I know you will never read it. I think I hate you. 

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