Saw that via Goddess Sabre on F-book, and I simply cannot say it better (or else I would!).
So I came home yesterday to a torrent of “Why didn’t you call me while you were away?” blah blah cakes.
Because I didn’t call anybody.
“Yeah right — you probably were on the phone every day with T and all your other friends. I’m trying to die here. The least you could do is CHECK on me.”
What fucking part of “phone will be off due to international rate charges” did you not hear, woman?
“You know I am about to die, right? You have absolutely no concern about me. I know you hate me and want me dead. And I will be soon. You can’t spend $15 on a quick call — that shows me what a cruel little girl you are.”
I’m turning 36 tomorrow. And since the first thing you told me about was some guy who died right outside our apartment building because he fell off a boat, and how Bret Michaels blah blah something or other, do you BLAME me?
“You KNOW I have the same thing Bret Michaels does. I could have been DEAD and you were too into yourself to have the courtesy to find out.”
Inner voice is going to become an outie. “I gave you cash to go to the doctor. Did you make an appointment? Did they take you?”
Silence.
“That’s what I thought. Are you PLANNING to call?”
“No.”
“Well, I want it back. I left you enough for food and a doctor’s visit and then some.”
“I spent the money.”
“Of course you did.”
“I wanted you to go WITH me!!! I can’t go ALONE!!!”
“You didn’t have any problem taking that money to make that appointment while I was gone, did you now?”
I’ll spare you the long e-mail I got this morning about what a miserable wretch I am and how she knows I’ll be happy after she dies. But on (her) second thought, I’m SO miserable that her dying won’t even cheer me up.
Welcome to my world. Happy birthday to me. Another year, another calendar full of total bullshit. Whee.
*bashing hot frying pan into my forehead*