An exercise in futility


Hey Bob –

Do you have any idea how difficult it was for me to get myself up off the basement floor after hours and hours of sobbing and trying to breathe and pull it together enough to drive myself to the ER? 

And upon arrival, discovering the person at the triage desk is a coworker? Of mine. Of yours. A goddamned master’s degree student, ffs. An award-winning graduate student. What’s that award? The Dean’s Medal? What dean would THAT be? 

AND . . .  to her admitted horror, she didn’t even recognize me? She had to ask me my name. 

“Oh my God! What happened to you?”

Hours and hours, I was confined to that room. 

Hours and hours, I waited for you to come.

Hours and hours, I thought about what you had done.

Hours and hours, I prayed for you to care.

Hours and hours, I believed that we would be OK.

Hours and hours, you swore that we would be.

Hours and hours, I was disheartened and disappointed.

Years later, not much has changed. 

Hours and hours and hours and hours and hours of my life you have stolen from me.




So. Fucking. Much.





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