Another Reason to Hate People.

And a reason to hate myself.

2 min read

Fine, jeez, I’ll admit it, but only because you insisted. I’m the old, out-of-touch broad. I lean my elbows on the bar in the club to give my body a pursuit other than its gawky go-to poses, I casually sip the thin layer of melted ice clouding the top of my alcohol that I’m not drunk enough to drink without wincing. I shelter the glass with my hands, swirling my straw, mentally wagging my finger at the girl falling over sick with tequila and memories of an ex that used to make her body feel good around that this time of night. 

When I’m not assigning myself silly tasks to advert getting unwanted attention in public places, I scroll through the socials, I shake my head at absurd trends choking any remaining sense out of the timeline, the popular rants that spread quickly because its a trend to be angry and expressive. My ego looms over the phone with me and lifts my nose a few inches high, she whispers in my ear all the reasons why we are better; more informed, controlled, elite.

I remind her that I too am a fool. That everything I feel right now, in ten years, I will laugh at as I will be gathering myself to sit neatly at a new throne. Keep on livin’. With time comes wisdom. This is a variation of quotes we hear often which causes it to lose value like a worn dish rag filled with the juices of burnt egg scrubbed off of a hand-me-down skillet — there’s so much to savor, so much value, but we’ve just scrubbed at the thing a bit too much. Now it is viewed as nothing but a trite remark used when one lacks creativity to say something a bit more pithy and new.

This is my attempt at rinsing and wringing out the rag. 

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