It is not an easy thing to be nice. But I love being nice, I think it is one of the easiest things to do, one of the burden-free ways to breeze through life. But sometimes, just sometimes, it is just nearly impossible to stay christian.
There are some things I absolutely dislike, like being gawked at ravenously and being pestered with talk ( all kinds) when I’m not up for it, but this week, they have come at me like a targeted missile, and this has got me seriously reconsidering my whole outlook and approach on human relations. Already, I have gotten super comfortable with ignoring messages I do not want to respond to (not all messages that don’t get responses are exactly ignored, sometimes, they are unintentionally forgotten. I believe your unrespsonded message is just forgotten innocently, ill-will-free), so I know I will excel at this not-being -nice if I want to.
I don’t know how people manage to look at others so hungrily. I mean, how can you let lust ooze out of your eyes like that?! So shamelessly? It is a very creepy thing, if you don’t know, I am telling you. And can’t you hear the kuu kuu kuu at the other end of the line you’re trying to reach my mind with? Please give me a break, you who are like that, I just started this new life. Ai berg yew orl!
It is just sad that them whom this concerns will probably never see this post, humph! It really is exasperating.
But this is for you anyway, this below;
Some days, I’d rather not talk with anyone, and that should be okay with you. But it isn’t. And you won’t leave me be. You won’t keep far away from my me, or hold off starting small talk under the staircase where I like to sit. You just come by and pollute the place with unwanted company. You won’t catch the signals I send your way, or even hear me scream, begging you to shut up. Why is that? Why on earth is that so? How is it that you do not recognize the line’s gone dead at my end and all that you’re saying is gone with the wind? How come you rise to follow me when I am clearly vacating your presence to go dig myself up from the dreariness your irksome chattiness has buried me under? I deserve an answer, but if you mean to respond, do think. Please think and regurgitate something wholesome, or else, sing silence. You can’t go wrong with that, and I may not not like you as much.
I did not like the way you looked at me today. Your eyes on me felt like you were a fat sluggish repulsive green housefly, and I was a little girl, learning how to eat my first mango by myself. You are a pest, through and through, and it amazes me how you lingered for so long, expertly dancing around me, trapping me, trying to. I get the feeling this is a rehearsed routine, this whoring. You’re a pest, I have said that before. I do realize that you’re looking for a new host. I sensed it in my spirit the second second after your gaze’s allowable time. I do not plan on being anyone’s host. I‘d probably have to show you that I know how to swat flies. I hate the aftermath, it’s always so nasty, so messy, this vermin killing. I loath the effort it takes not to stain my blood-washed white cloak in the process. And it is not as if there was a hook to temporarily hang it up while I’m at it.