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And I Don’t Care, 2005

original written 11-15-98, turned into prose 09-12-05<>/I>

I’m sick of people telling me that they’re glad that I’m okay, and I’m tired of people asking me and that condescending high-pitched voice (which is supposed to mean that they care) how I’m doing. Well, I’m fine. I’m the same I’ve always been. I know a lot has happened to me, and I know I’ve gone through a lot, and I know that nothing gets better.
I know, I know, it all depends on your attitude — that’s what they tell me with amazing regularity and it doesn’t do me any good and I’m still angry and I’ve still lost part of my life.
And maybe in theory I’ll lose more I don’t know
I don’t care about the beautiful trees that are growing outside my home and I don’t care about the chirps I hear from the birds outside. That’s not a nice way to put it, I know, but there are a lot of things I don’t care about when the beautiful things have decided to take a turn for the worse for me.
Are things getting better? Objectively, I can say that I don’t know, and I don’t care.

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