Are You Done?
“Are you freakin’ done with this now?”
That’s what I got from Dan after telling him I was anxious about tomorrow.
The full exchange went something like this:
“Do you love me?”
“Of course I love you, ya dick.”
“That doesn’t help. Calling me names.”
“Of course I love you. Is that better?”
“…”
He walked away for a second then came back. “How can I make you feel better?”
“Don’t take this the wrong way, but you suck at making me feel better.”
He walked away again then came back.
“Since I suck…[inaudible mumbling].
“I just want to feel loved sometimes.”
“I have stuff…problems…too.”
“You never tell me what they are.”
“Are you freakin’ done with this now?”
He left it there, went out to smoke.
There’s a paper on my desk that I wrote to myself. It says “Not everyone will love you back, love anyway.”
There’s a reason why humans need the reminder.
But, hey, I cried a few real tears for the first time in years. So yay?
Yes, I’m done.