Well, fuck you, too.

Sometimes in life we're overly nice to people who, looking back on it, simply did not deserve our kindness. Supposely it's nice to be important and more important to be nice and somewhere inside of me I believe that's true. But there are plenty of people in this world that the dumb fucks of the universe deem important who I seriously doubt are "nice."

Funny. You find ways to make yourself feel better. I'll just go get a pedicure tonight to take away some of this sting. I'll tell myself I'm a better person for being kind to someone who was dicking me over. I'm a bigger person for staying seemingly silent and indifferent in the face of flagrant rejection/stupidity.

And yet. There is the urge.

The urge to call the ex and demand to know why he backed off. What he was too big of a pussy to tell me.

The urge to call the ex-friend and call her a fat, selfish, fuck who doesn't deserve anyone's respect or adoration.

The urge to call the Donna . . . actually, no, that one really didn't last long enough to warrant any sort of real lingering resentment. Think he's too dumb to actually comprehend it, too.

The urge to call Penquin's head of HR and tell them that one of their employees asked me "what it felt like to be a failure" during last summer's job interview.

The urge to tell the next fat, unfunny, unintelligent slob who hits on me to fuck off, can't you see I deserve more than you?

And then I realize, for the most part, that the person I'm most angry at is me.