The thing about offending me is this:
You only do it once.
My brother has been in town since Friday night.
He had been very nice to me up until an hour ago.
He would crack jokes, offer me food, text me funny random shit, and he even paid for my movie ticket earlier today.
Then we argued again as we exited the movie theater.
The argument once again revolved around the subject of not wanting to share MY shit.
This sent Brother into a tailspin. And he began with his angry rant.
Brother: You're so... I'm just going to stop myself right here before I say something that...
Me: Might hurt my feelings? Oh, don't worry about that, you already crossed that threshold a few weeks ago. There's nothing you can really say that will hurt my feelings... maybe only if you wish death upon me... and even then, I kinda wouldn't care, 'cause death has been sounding pretty fucking appealing to me for over a year now.
Like I said, people only disillusion me once. After I learn of how badly they can hurt me, anything they do ceases to surprise me.
You only make me cry unconsolably once. After that, that one piece of my heart I dedicated for you dies. It becomes numb, useless... like when you suffer a heart attack, that part of your heart dies... it no longer works. So... shoot away, homie, I no longer care, I no longer feel, I'm no longer shocked.
Just keep opening your mouth and proving my judgement correct: YOU never cared.
As is customary, I admired the wrong person. The idea of never placing anyone on an altar is further reinforced.
My brother continued his ranting as we walked in the house, and I think he only became more outraged when he saw how calm and nonchalant I was about everything. I didn't scream, I didn't slam doors, I didn't sniffle, my eyes didn't water.
I held the door open that he originally swung nearly-shut on my face, walked in while playing a game on my cell phone, and poured myself a cup of cereal with some spinach on the side (it's good. Don't judge me).
He explained the situation-- quite agitatedly-- to my mom, and told her he couldn't eat with my "stupid face" in front of him.
I shrugged, continued eating my cereal, and once done, came straight to my room and decided to write.
I'm not crying. I'm not surprised... I'm just...
Oh, Universe, you're funny.
Happy Christmas Eve, people.
I'm going to eat tamales and be the quiet, weird one I always am at tonight's posada.
You only do it once.
My brother has been in town since Friday night.
He had been very nice to me up until an hour ago.
He would crack jokes, offer me food, text me funny random shit, and he even paid for my movie ticket earlier today.
Then we argued again as we exited the movie theater.
The argument once again revolved around the subject of not wanting to share MY shit.
This sent Brother into a tailspin. And he began with his angry rant.
Brother: You're so... I'm just going to stop myself right here before I say something that...
Me: Might hurt my feelings? Oh, don't worry about that, you already crossed that threshold a few weeks ago. There's nothing you can really say that will hurt my feelings... maybe only if you wish death upon me... and even then, I kinda wouldn't care, 'cause death has been sounding pretty fucking appealing to me for over a year now.
Like I said, people only disillusion me once. After I learn of how badly they can hurt me, anything they do ceases to surprise me.
You only make me cry unconsolably once. After that, that one piece of my heart I dedicated for you dies. It becomes numb, useless... like when you suffer a heart attack, that part of your heart dies... it no longer works. So... shoot away, homie, I no longer care, I no longer feel, I'm no longer shocked.
Just keep opening your mouth and proving my judgement correct: YOU never cared.
As is customary, I admired the wrong person. The idea of never placing anyone on an altar is further reinforced.
My brother continued his ranting as we walked in the house, and I think he only became more outraged when he saw how calm and nonchalant I was about everything. I didn't scream, I didn't slam doors, I didn't sniffle, my eyes didn't water.
I held the door open that he originally swung nearly-shut on my face, walked in while playing a game on my cell phone, and poured myself a cup of cereal with some spinach on the side (it's good. Don't judge me).
He explained the situation-- quite agitatedly-- to my mom, and told her he couldn't eat with my "stupid face" in front of him.
I shrugged, continued eating my cereal, and once done, came straight to my room and decided to write.
I'm not crying. I'm not surprised... I'm just...
Oh, Universe, you're funny.
Happy Christmas Eve, people.
I'm going to eat tamales and be the quiet, weird one I always am at tonight's posada.
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