Screw You and Your Laughter, I’m Miserable

Dear Loud Obnoxious Pub Patrons, It’s been a hell of day. I awoke to the remnants of what looked like toddler fight club as a blood soaked pajama shirt was strewn on the floor in front of a blood spattered sink and mirror; the casualties of last night’s 4 year old midnight nosebleed. I feel as though I just suckered into another 2 months of free work on a pro-bono project that should’ve ended months ago. Now, I’m sitting in a pub eating supper by myself after leaving home more than 12 hours earlier, waiting to meet a friend. And you’re over there full of shits and giggles, pounding fists on the shuffle board table, downing jager bombs, not giving a damn about those around you. How dare you have a great time while I’m miserable. But why is it that my misery needs to bring you down? Why is that my needs are the center of the universe? Can…rather shouldn’t your laughter and boisterous antics lift me out of the shit instead of my whining and complaining drag you down? Why do I insist on remaining in this dark and defeated place instead of allowing your joy to soothe my soul? Carry on. I am probably not the only who needs what you are prescribing. – Dave