God I hate you, Peter!! I hate you because it’s the only emotion I can have that doesn’t involve blaming myself in any way for what happened. Am I the only accepting person left on the fucking planet? Why don’t we all just go around with checklists and hand them out to one another before a word is even spoken! That way we can find out about all those little things that don’t jive with exactly every fucking thing we want out of a person right off the bat. You don’t go to concerts? Who doesn’t fucking go to concerts for Christ’s sake? You’re breaking up with me because you don’t go to fucking concerts? You couldn’t have found a shred of entertainment from the Mountain Goats, if it meant me not having to go to the concert alone? Fuck you, Peter! I don’t even know why I am upset about this! Probably because you seem to have this all figured out and somehow I’m asking too much by asking you to go to a concert. Or pick me up from the airport? That’s what people in relationships do, Peter. Being in a relationship means always having someone around that will pick you up from the fucking airport. I wish you weren’t so cool and interesting and beautiful. Maybe if you weren’t I wouldn’t have felt so inadequate around you and I wouldn’t have acted like such an idiot. You enrage me Peter. You make me want to start smoking again. At least now if I have a smoke after 2 or 10 beers I won’t be paranoid that you might detect it in the taste of my mouth the next day.
Denver Disappointment
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