And in the end, all I really feel is anger. Frustration. Annoyance. Bitterness. Why? Oh, right, because I'm a horrible person.
Unfortunately, I'm beginning to not give a fuck. Why should I be a good person? Fuck good intentions because they always turn out bad. There's a book sitting on the shelf of my desk at work: 35 Dumb Things Well-Intended People Say. Well fuck me, that's the story of my life. Except that I don't usually say anything. I just do stupid shit. Scratch that, I say dumb things too. I open my fat mouth, and not only did nothing get better, shit just got downright worse. What did I do to get this? Sure, I probably deserved some shit for leaving one guy and getting with another dude a month later. Yeah, I get it. But I only have two words for both of you: fuck you. Sure, you're "over it." You're so over it that you can't even talk to me anymore. Right. Because that's the definition of "over it." "Over it" means that you can't deal with it. "Over it" means you're too scared of some shit that might happen if you even associate with me. "Over it" means you're still a scared, little pansyfuck. Of course. Because you're over it. I'm not saying you shouldn't be given time to chill and think things over, because that would be unfair. If you're not over it, fucking say it. And if you are over it, you're lying. Stop your bullshit. And you. You, oh, you. Don't even get me started on you. I understand he's your BFF and you want to ignore me because I hurt his feelings. Fine. Hell, I'd ignore a good friend of mine for that reason, too; I assure you. But, seriously, because you wanted him? You just wanted to avoid me because of that? I understand a subtle tendency to be less talkative, but the whole "gee, I'm gonna try to do everything I can so I don't have to communicate with you, even if it's out of my way" attitude really makes me wanna... rant about this on Xanga. I mean, you could at least look at me during the times you did happen to talk to me.
Seriously, I didn't even know what the heck I did wrong. And really, I didn't do anything wrong. Did I know anything about this? No. Did I intentionally try to make things happen the way they did? NO. The answer is fucking NO. And yet, you found that the best way to remedy the situation was to be a total bitch. Thanks a lot. Oh right, and you start talking to him before you even bother start talking to me. Once again, I didn't do jack shit, and I'm being ignored? Did you forget about the so-called "betrayal?" Did you forget that I did nothing wrong? Did you forget that we were good friends at one point in time? Unless I wasn't a good friend. For some reason that explanation slipped my mind. It all makes sense now. Then I guess the whole point of this rant is moot. Damn, and to think I was gonna build you a fucking time machine. Doesn't matter in the grand scheme of things. It's too late to change a damned thing. You missed your chance. I fucked up all my chances. Let's just be each other's drunken mistake and pretend this never happened. Except it did. And even when you're old and about to die, you'll remember some weird girl that you were good friends with until she accidentally st- oh. I still have some shred of decency to not totally vomit your problems all over the interweb. I'll remember you, though. At least I will vaguely, every time I see a certain homosexual pop star. And other you: I don't have anything else to say to you. | 
