Tuesday January 30th 2007, 11:45 pm
Filed under: All Letters,Hate Letters,Love Letters

To my Friday night phone call,

I was at work, designing websites for some friends of mine, when you decided to call me. There didn’t seem to be any real purpose to your call, except to maybe check in on me to find out whether or not I was behaving myself. You spoke of your mundane life and about how much you disliked your job. They have been making you cover your sick associates’ schedules because of their lack of techs on the job. You seemed to have such disdain for your current employment situation. I asked you if you planned on staying with your current employer and you told me “You don’t know me at all. Of course I won’t. I’ll burn out in six months and quit this job like I always do.” I wanted to tell you how I had no job prospects in Los Angeles and how jealous I was that you had a stable source of income. I don’t understand how you could want to ruin such a good employment situation – especially if you are paying such high rent for our old apartment. I wish I had the knowledge you had in terms of being a vet tech. Your job is an awesome opportunity to make a decent living, while earning desirable wages. However, I bit my tongue, as I have frequently in the past, and didn’t delve into a counter argument. I feel as if I have to conceal parts of my thoughts in order to sustain a “friendly” nature to our relationship. But by hiding my thoughts, I am repressing a part of my being that I find to be one of my best features – my wit and immediate comprehension of the surrounding elements of situations. This overt and covert repression negates a part of me that you once immensely loved. We can never go back to our long lost love if I continue to repress my coherence. The good part about this is that you never want to return to the warm loving understanding we once shared, and so you most likely enjoy my vocal repression because it allows you to dominate the dynamics of our current communication. You enjoy having power over your past lovers; I fear that I am allowing you this space to exist within your own enjoyment. Fuck! I guess you can consider me a carnival ride, ready for you to get on and be happy, while my mechanics are breaking down with each and every fare. I hope that someday you will tire of my ride, and will abandon me like how most amusement parks that go out of business. I wish I weren’t as nice a person as I truly am. I wish I could be an evildoer like some men I come across in my life. If only I could be snobbish and uncivil, discourteous and insolent to you, then you wouldn’t feel the need to call me, expecting me to respect you. Oh how I wish my mother never taught me manners; at least then I could feel retribution for the pain and suffering you have caused me. You truly are blind to the torment our break-up has put me through. I’m not moving because my friends are in Los Angeles, I’m moving because I’d kill myself if I had to stay in the same city as you. I’ve come to terms with my own self-destruction and in a dramatic maneuver I am trying to propagate my own survival. But these are things I can never tell you in our conversations. I doubt you’d listen to my cries anyway.

-Your Friday night answer.

Comments Off on 52