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Monday October 16th 2006, 2:30 am
Filed under: All Letters,Hate Letters

To the Time Developing,

It’s been some time since we last spoke – maybe a week or so. This may be because the last words you said to me were “Call me later this week,” to which I replied, “Sure.” I haven’t fulfilled my part of the deal, with good cause. I am too frightened to inquire into what you’ve been up to lately. Anxiety swells in me when I contemplate asking you simple questions such as “How has your week been?” or “What are your plans for the weekend?” With you I am a failure at small talk. I think my fear of your response is validated, not because of the specific answers you’ll give to my questions, but by the way in which those answers will be spoken. I know you’ll have a soothing tone in the gesture of your voice when you tell me of your mundane plans. You’ll nonchalantly describe some banal existence. Like anything you plan to do, whether it’s going to San Jose, or hanging out in the Apartment, or having sex with a robot monkey is an acceptable plan. You won’t ask my opinion—you need no input from me. You don’t contemplate how your responses will affect me, and you sure as hell won’t want to include me in any of your plans. Maybe I’m jealous of your “smooth-sailing-I’m-gonna-be-OK” plans because my plans seem so turbulent. It’s likely my fear of talking to you is a fear of repression. I don’t want to have to be a “yes-man” to anyone, especially not you. I can imagine your reaction to these thoughts I’m having. You’d tell me to go fuck myself, that it’s not my responsibility to care about your plans, that I don’t have a say in anything that goes on in your life. This all may be true. But why would you ask me to call you later in the week if you don’t care to respond to me as a caring human being? It seems you want to keep a superficial connection with me, not because you honestly care about me, but rather to check up on me to see if I’ve any plans to harm you in the future. Your fear makes you say things like “Call me later in the week.” And since I’m afraid of someone who fears me, that puts us in a peculiar position, doesn’t it? Maybe if I don’t call you, you’ll realize the absurdity of you asking me to call, and we can sweep the whole “calling each other thing” under the rug like we swept up our marriage. Which reminds me, you switched your wedding ring from your wedding finger to your right hand’s 4th finger around the time you realized you were no longer in Love with me. This switch occurred three days before you found that letter on my computer (which made you take the ring off entirely). Why did you switch fingers so quickly? Everything happened so quickly for you. Our marriage and love was over in a week. Subsequently one week later, you asked me to move out of the Apartment. Everything was swept neatly under the rug for you. Hell, if you didn’t tell anyone, no one would even know we’re still married. I wonder if you use me as an excuse to push away men after you’re done fucking them? You can sweep them under the rug just as easily as you did our love. But sooner or later, you’re going to have to vacuum the broken pieces of their hearts from under that rug, and we all know how much you hate to clean that apartment.

— Space-Time-Ego-Thing.

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