fictitious.

my first fiction piece + a kickass song – selected simply for this one, by me.

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Fictitious1

Hello.

You’re probably wondering why I was up this late, truth is, why weren’t you? I was sending emails to clients, asking my assistant Claire on how my tone seems, apparently, I have problems with “Empathy”, in my opinion : Claire can suck a soft dick. It’s fucking 2 AM. No client wants to answer my god forbidden business, well unless you count that tool who prides around a Harvard tenure, Claire can suck his dick on soft for all I care.

Why is it that I constantly feel people watching me? Perhaps they aren’t even people. What if they’re animals? Should I even address them as they? God, can you do your fucking job, write this shit down it could be golden. Quit glaring at me too, I don’t pay you to gawk at me. Jesus, is there anyone that acts like a professional? Well, I applaud you. Therapists on TV shows are different than in real life. You get to sit here and act like a shit is given of me and get paid.

I’m here because my wife, ex-wife. Not really a loss. Yes, put those tissues behind your desk. I’m not going to sob. Apparently, I’m not in the clearest of heads. I call bull. If I called her now, she’d probably be strung out and half dead. Sometimes I do miss her. That time we met at a roller rink, a blind date. She came in with a blue dress. Not just blue. Cerulean. Enough of that, people change. I hate the roller rink.

This chair is uncomfy, you should fix that. I thought you guys made a bunch of money, right? Silence. Okay. You’re full of shit. You make a lot, not as much as me though. How much time is left in our session? Geez, it’s like I’m sitting on nails. I need water, can I get water ? No for fuck’s sake I don’t care if it takes away from session time. Yes, I’d rather to anything that this right now. Right now, I want to snort three lines and sink myself into a pile of money,  judging on the percent of sobriety at that point, won’t be real.

One hour?

Fuck. Me.

my heart hurts so much

heartache

I don’t really know what to say here.

My grandma flew in from Honduras on Sunday around 1 AM.

Come Monday morning, she wakes up blind. I haven’t seen this woman in 6 years, and I was going to see her tomorrow. She hasn’t seen me since I was 9. Now that is the last version of myself she’ll be able to witness.

My mom is freaking out, zooming in and out of hospitals with Anastasia (my grandma) looking for a solution – I haven’t seen my mom in 24 hours. That sucks. I miss my mom. My dad put a whole bottle of ketchup in our dinner spaghetti, one thing is for sure : We won’t last long without her. I miss my mom’s sweet voice. I called her, I wanted to cry but my dad was present, I don’t cry in front of people…I’m too tough for that sorry. Seeing myself cry makes ME uncomfortable, imagine for other people.

The boy I was morbidly in love with came back to me after months of disconnection, I suppose he missed me, I was beginning to free fall into his heart again, then he posted a picture on his spam acc with a neck hickey. But that doesn’t bother me.   In fact, I couldn’t give less of a shit for it.

Goodbye all –

Angiesunbeams