- How are you?
- Okay, I guess. How about you?
- Good. I got laid off.
- Hmm. Sorry.
- Did you read my column yet?
- No. I'll do it soon.
- Listen, I just wanted to warn you. There's some stuff in there which you're probably going to think is about you, and if you're thinking that, you might get upset.
- What kind of stuff?
- Just things that happened with us that I used. But the girl in the column isn't really you, I just used some stuff. And I exaggerated a little.
- Like what?
- Nothing really bad. There's a part about handjobs. And chocolate cake.
- Did you really put that in?
- Yeah. But it's not about you. It's just a random couple, talking to each other.
- How could you do that?
- I felt like I had to. I was very upset about what happened, and I wanted to write a column about it.
- But that's my private life. I don't want other people to know about it. There's some things that happened that I feel very ashamed about, and that I'm trying to get over, and I don't want to deal with them anymore.
- Look, it's not about you. There's some similarities, but it's not meant to be a real person.
- Your friends are going to think it's me.
- No they're not. If they don't already know, they'll think I made it up. I make stuff up all the time.
- But they know I was the only girlfriend you had in college.
- I dated some other girls. Besides, if they're my friends it doesn't matter because they know what happened.
- There's people that I know too, that are part of my life now. What are they going to think about me? Your fucking friends have already been talking about me, and spreading rumors about what a bad person I am.
- It's not about you. It's about what happened to me. And it's art. It's not autobiographical. Most of it is a joke about how pathetic and narcissistic I am. It's not supposed to be serious.
- How could you fuck with my life, to write something for your shitty website?
- I'm not trying to fuck with you. I felt very bad for a long time, and that's why I started writing the column, and now I feel better. I just wanted you to know before you read it. The column's about me. It's not about you. The reason I'm talking to you now is that I'm starting to feel less angry, and I want to feel normal when I run into you somewhere. I want us to be friends.
- I feel sick.
- Look, I'm not trying to apologize. I wrote it because I thought it was necessary.
- I don't want to talk anymore.
- Did you read the column?
- No. I talked to my psychiatrist, and he agrees that I shouldn't read it.
I feel very bad about the things that happened with you and me; I was really unhealthy and self-destructive then. But now I'm trying to leave that person behind and be someone that I don't have to feel ashamed of.
- I'm not trying to make you feel like a bad person. But I'm sorry I apologized before. I wrote it because I felt like I had to, at the time, and it was the only way for me to work things out and have them make sense. I kept having conversations with you in my head, and I was really obsessed and angry, but I knew it wouldn't make a difference if I talked to you, so I decided to write something about being heartbroken and sexually obsessed.
- I feel really bad about what happened. And I feel like you betrayed me by writing about it. You're being vindictive. What would my boyfriend think if he read it? He'd be so upset.
- I don't understand why you're so angry if you haven't even read the column. I wasn't trying to make you look bad. The girl in the column doesn't act like you, or talk like you. And if I had to get over you dumping me and fucking me over, shouldn't you be able to accept that I was upset?
There's only two possibilities: We're either going to be friends and get over this, or we won't talk to each other anymore.
- I think that's what's going to happen.
- So you're going to not be friends, after you already dumped me? What else could you possibly do?
- I could frame you for murder. Or implicate you in a money-laundering scam. I just don't want to be blamed for the things that happened, and made to look like some horrible bitch by your fucked-up manipulative column.
- I'm not blaming you for what happened. And I do think you're a good person.
- I don't care. I don't want you to write about me anymore.
- I can't help writing about you if I'm affected by something that involves you, and I keep thinking about it.
- Then don't think about it.
- Promise you won't.
The worst thing to be is in love.
Take a worthless life, multiplied by ten. The worst person I ever was with a girl coming on top of me. I have no recollection of being ashamed. When she came in I was flipped over and started again. And when she walked in the air got thin. I'm not ashamed, of the things we did, or the games. The blame is mine for her eyes and face and her breasts and hips and the way the skin is wrapped around every inch of being in love with someone, when your heart stops beating for you, when you don't care about yourself: you are living for someone else.
The entire time, no matter how bad it got, I always felt that we would end up together, and that it was therefore worth it - I couldn't believe that I'd eventually be cut out completely. I guess that's denial. Here's my reasoning: why put someone through so much shit, and stay with them in spite of how angry they are at you, if you don't love them? But eating shit for someone, and feeding someone shit, have nothing to do with loving or hating them, only with whether you're fucked up or not.
The kind of love that sacrifices itself to another person is weakness and cowardice. Real love preserves it's own strength. This is like a Samurai koan, yes, but it's also true.
This column is a purely fictitious piece of shit. None of the characters in it are meant to represent actual people; they're only supposed to illustrate the way humans interact in certain specific situations. However, many of the emotions expressed are based on experience.