I don't really like people.
And that people don't really like me.
I don't have patience for your bad mood, complaints, irritations, annoyances or even happiness.
Just as you don't have patience for my sarcastic comments, wry wit or brutal truths.
If I request that you just leave me alone, on my own, will you comply?
Please just leave me allow to wallow. Wallowing is something I do well.
You will have to pardon me if I don't ask you what's wrong because to be honest, and honesty is always the best way to be, I don't really care.
It's true. I don't really care.
It feels good to say, so once more I will.
I DON'T REALLY CARE!
I don't care that you didn't sleep well, that you're hungry or that you woke up on the wrong side of the bed. Feel free to stand near me and spout off about the injustices of the world, or at least the injustices of the life you are leading but be prepared for me to become more and more irate the longer you stand and rant. It might be best if you direct your bitching elsewhere. Like towards the pleasant woman in the corner who is always willing to "listen".
I don't listen. While you talk to me I am thinking about other things. More important things.
Is it sad that my other more important things are usually something to do with characters I have created and who don't really exist?
The point is this. The next time you opt to chew my ear off about how the Biggest Loser made you cry, the fact that you spilled on your new shirt or that you have the lingering taste of your lunch in your mouth, you might find my fist hurtling towards your face in the effort to make you stop talking.