||[30 Mar 2003|05:41am]
A bad day? Are you fucking serious? A bad day? A bad fucking day?
You are UNREAL barney.
A bad day is when you hang up on someone because you had a bad day. Sorry I flew off the handle at the laundromat, I had a bad day.
Lying about doing heroin? Twice? To someone who loves you and actually cares about you, throwing a bottle at her turned back, threatening to punch her (while shouting for your pal [name deleted] the whole time - for backup? Fucking heroic.) is bit beyond the "bad day." You're gonna have to chalk it up to a little more than that pal. Calling me sounding suicidal because I was going to a movie with some guys, derailing my plans to go to a birthday dinner for friends of 10 years or so, and then bailing with [name deleted] to go to Beat It? Hmmm. Bad Day? Or, was it enough drugs to down a horse, Josh. Was that maybe more the thing that did it?
You had a bad day & you were fucked up? What part of your day was 'bad'? Waking up in the afternoon, fucking around with [name deleted] all day, going to buy food & new clothes on mommy's credit card or driving around in your brand fucking new car and making plans for the night on your cellie with all your 'friends'? Off flying around planet Earth with your trusty sidekick to save the world again Superman? Wow. You must be so tired! Judges? Yeah. Fucked up.
Oh, also, I really like it when my drugged out of his fucking mind deranged ex calls me at work and threatens to come to my office, where, have I mentioned? I WORK, for money, to buy food and live because I have to actually work for money unlike some spoiled brats from Simi Valley that I know, so I can roll you & your friends for a fucking year, and threatens to come to my office if I don't tell him where I "hid" his "fucking pills." That makes my day really special. Oh, hey, don't sweat it kid, I'll just roll with it. No big thing to be threatened for pills. It's nice to know where I stand. My life = zero. Drugs = priceless.
Oh, hey, also, thanks for standing me up on my birthday after I spent a few hundred and devoted the whole weekend to you for yours and then having a party instead and then sleeping with the fucking cubic zirconia coco chanel. Also, thanks for waiting in the Doctor's office with me when I was shaking and silently crying waiting for my x-rays, having my doctor ask me if I was suicidal. It really means a lot to me. I said no, if you're wondering. Survival, now that's something.
Lemme tell you something. If any girl is trying to fuck you, I'd take it. Because you used to be adorable, seriously. You were like, the cutest little thing ever. But now you're just - it's like you even look like an asshole. An ugly, high, rich little loser who can't even spell.
I know you're afraid. I know you're too big of an insecure asshole to be who you really are deep down. Or to come to me and say, Jesus, I am so sorry for all the pain I caused you continually. Because I really did love you. I know that right now, you're burying that person, hoping he'll suffocate. Rock stars don't feel pain, right little boy? You wanna grow up to be a great big rock star?
I didn't ask you what you were feeling. I asked you if you cared about any sort of remaining relationship, any connection to each other after more than a year of being each other's best friend and lover and companion.
Sooooooo...that's a no?
Well then. Here is my deepest desire, my wish upon a desert star: I hope that one night, out of nowhere, you find yourself vastly and incomprehensibly alone, confused, desperate. I hope you run right into that brick wall you're building with your astonishing denial, and you say to yourself, dear god, what have I done? How did I get here? And you realize that all you've ever done is trample the great things you had, the true friendships, the deep unspeakable love, the real trust.
And I'm nowhere to be found.