pig will not
so we went to atlantic city two weekends ago and had a shitty time. it’s not like i’ve spent the last week and half trying to recover from the exhausting amount of drinking and tomfoolery i participated in. it’s not like i finally proclaimed my feelings to a certain sicilian physicist, who then rejected me and acted like nothing happened. (clearly, he did me a favor). it’s not like he knows. it’s not like he cares, rather. it’s not like his little shit bag nephew tried to finger my ear, in order to get my attention, as i drunkingly slept in the front seat. it’s not like i bit the fuck out of his arm and told him to fuck off. (it’s not like there was anything sweet or playful about my tone). it’s not like i’ve been consumed by putrid self-hatred and self-indulgent self-loathing all week. it’s not like i’ve been avoiding you all, all week because i cannot handle the deep shame i feel for losing nearly all control of myself, in a strange place, in strange clothes. it’s not like i ruined everyone’s night with my assholery. it’s not like i’m bitter that you met someone that night and have a date tonight. it’s not like i’m bitter. it’s not like i’m bitter. it’s not like i’m bitter. i’m not bitter. i’m not very convincing. i’m not very convincing. i’m not very convincing. i just don’t want to fucking hear about it. i cannot be happy for you right now. it’s not like i’m sorry.
