Letter to the Management

I had hardly talked to anyone in days. I'm not sure, but I think that may be how it starts, and I'm certain that's how it ends. I've taken to staying awake most of the night and sleeping past noon. Having said this, it must have been three in the morning when I looked out of the window. Everyone else was asleep, but I was awake and pathologically so. It was freezing outside and, outside, I felt I was rotting. Something in my gut wanted out, so I went. I plodded through the snow in my pajamas and made my way through the woods behind my house. I jumped a fence and walked through a field of cows. I stepped in a frozen cow pie. My non-existent grandfather always said that cow pies brought out the worst in people, and my worst is particularly bad.

Don't ask me to define bad, by the way. I hate it when people ask me to define good and bad when I use them in any context. They think it makes them smart to ask stupid questions. Stupid? Stupid as in stepping in a frozen cow pie while moping in the dark. Oh yeah. Moping. I almost forgot (thanks for evoking the present misery, by the way). Here I was, in the dark. It could have been any day really, but it wasn't. It was new years which, in my opinion, is just another day. My opinion being salve and I feeling otherwise. Hence, moping. The world was having fun and I being had. By a pile of bovine fecal matter, nonetheless. I had a realization or something like it. I pulled myself out of the muck...just before stepping out of the cow pie.

So what, I screamed at the cows. It was obviously their fault, the new years thing. Am I lonely; am I not? What bothers me more is not knowing the difference. A car started down the street slowly. I hate people in cars, and I think everyone does. Not just pedestrians or late night mopers, but other people in cars hate people in cars as well. In fact, I would say that people in cars are the most universally hated group in society.

So, anyway. They looked suspicious (coupled with the outside chance that I might also look suspicious), so I ducked behind a bush. The insidious smell reminded me of something I had recently forgiven. I wanted to scream at the cows again. Things were getting risky, so I went back to my house. I sat in the bottom of the pantry for two hours eating cake frosting and entertaining myself with futuristic celebrations of giant cow pie balls dropping from orbital heights for the entertainment of futuristic stupid people. Oh well, they make good entertainment. I never owned another person, but I'm certain it isn't as fulfilling as it sounds. I once bought a lobster from the grocery store and drove one hundred rainy night miles to the shore. I cut the rubber bands before I let it go. Thankless, it swam off. I can't say it was a fulfilling experience to let it go. Never grateful or worshipful for its freedom, just leaving, realizing it. I couldn't help but fear it understood god better than I.

Yeah, the whole thing was a disappointment; it was only slightly better than a frozen cow pie. My non-existent therapist would say this has something to do with a deep seeded hatred of society. But she ran off with my grandfather. I wonder how they're doing anyway. I'll have to decide later. Anyway, what makes you think I hate society? Oh, did I mention the orbital cow pie is flaming and lands in time square? I don't know how they get off saying I'm spiteful either. People are just so destructively perceptive nowadays. I can remember back to nothing, back when nothing was enough, and I was contented with my own thoughts. Now I'm expected to account for the thoughts of others? How dare they think and think I should think their thoughts. Oh, and for you people who are forever requesting me to define good and bad, no one cares that last year was the pretender millennium. Pretender's good enough if the numbers are right, you know that.

After all, you were the ones who taught me that. Good, eh? No, it ran away with Grandpa and his mistress. The sun is rising (but how would I know that?), and my feet smell. Happy New Year.

-Management