screw you. you know that i have never cared for you; that i always had a hard time adjusting to you. but you always come back. everytime things are running smoothly (like a faithful refridgerator) you come and mess things up. you make things all topsy-turvy, i hardly know what to do. you think after spending so much time with you (in the car to north park, on the train to colorado, sitting by the window watching that beloved appliance leave) i would be used to you. but i’m not. i still hate you. i can’t wait until i’m an old man, sitting under a blanket, reading a good book, next to my old and beautiful wife. and then a smile will slowly dawn on my face when i realized that i have killed you. until then, as i earlier said, screw you.
andrew john meyer