If you're going to screw me over, I would at least appreciate a nice dinner first.
Sure, I may have become a bit of nag in the last few months - "Wow, you really suck right now", "Please stop sucking so hard", and "ENOUGH WITH THE SUCKAGE ALREADY!" can all seem a bit harsh. I understand that. I do. However, your all-encompassing determination to mess with every last centimeter of my emotional, physical, spiritual and habitual self has been nothing short of mean.
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| "Take another little piece of my heart now, baby..." |
The last I checked, the following apply to you:
1. There are billions of others out there - so why play favorites?
2. Karma is your coworker... kind of... ?
3. You would have no purpose without people to, um, live you...
I fail, then, to understand why you seem so damn determined to target every aspect of my existence with your Ray Gun of Perpetual Bullshit.
However, since I am not quite the evil nag you seem to think I am, I have brainstormed a (brief) list of solutions:
1. Make like the '60's and spread the love (or pain).
- I mean, really. What's with opening a can of Koncentrated Krystal-Killing Kola? Sounds a wee bit high in cholesterol to me. Why not target someone who has, I don't know, just punted a puppy off the roof of a mosque they just pissed on? Seems like they may deserve this epic beat-down more than I would. Maybe.
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| "I just want to kick you while you're down, man..." |
2. Have a little chat with Karma before acting.
- There has got to be some kind of record keeping system. I mean, really, between the two of you couldn't you form some kind of procedure for when, where, what, and how much crap one person can take at one time. You know the saying "All work and no play makes Krystal a dull girl"? Well, switch "dull" with "dead" and you'll be headed in the right direction.
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| I buy the effing toilet paper. That has to count for something, right? |
3. Read Job 7:17-21.
- Are you TRYING to kill me off?! If the purpose of Life is to be lived, then why hit me with the arsenal? I feel like a cross between a slice of Swiss cheese and Silly Putty - neither are sexy, and I don't appreciate it. I know I don't have it as bad as that poor ol' dude Job did, but there was really a point two weeks ago where it was close. When everything that can go wrong does, it's a good clue that maybe, just maybe, it's not all my fault (for once). I don't have the power to give someone breast cancer. I do
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| This, too, is not sexy... |
All-in-all, I'd say this was a very therapeutic letter. I was able to get things off my chest and, if you were to read this, you would (of course) take all of my suggestions to heart and magically transform yourself into the LESS SUCKY version that I know you have inside of you.
I know, I know... what a bitchy letter. I wish I could say that I'm sorry, but you've just tapped me out. There are people - and entire countries - that have it much, much worse than I could even comprehend, and reminding myself of that does help on occasion.
Until you start kicking me in the ovaries. Again.
Shape up,
Krystal
