Marvin

You know, it's really not uncommon for me to be incredibly angry at the majority of my friends at any given time. To be sure, it is an anger which arises from frustration, which stems from love -- the same love which prevents me from telling them You fucking bastard, do you have any idea how much you have inconvenienced me so that I'm sitting here in a towel because I have no clothes and I'm scrubbing the bottom of your stove which you left for me to clean up and it's not like I'll ever reach you on the phone anyway, even to leave a message, and I've been doing all this for you, you know, the planning things which you've just taken off the schedule although you requested them and I haven't even eaten lunch yet because I was getting things ready, things which you would have misinterpreted anyway, and don't talk to me about love because I'm sick of it.

I have no idea how common this sort of internal monologue is to other people, (with the exception of Patrick,) but it seems like my primary leitmotif, especially during the summer. In point of fact, I dramatically changed my personality and internal decision-making process a few years ago so that I would (a) not be the one planning things, and (b) not really give a damn whether my friends got what they wanted, simply so that I wouldn't have to regularly watch the destruction of hours of nuanced detail work.

Still, I get fairly angry when people don't arrive on time for events they set the schedule for -- or decide not to show up at all.

I get really angry when I'm late, which is ironic when you realize that I've been at least ten minutes late to everything I've done this year despite my thousand preventative preparations. It's like a big FUCK YOU from God.

You: Jesus Fuck, Romie! Why don't you just tell people when you're pissed off with them?

Romie: I do. Usually. I just do it in such a way that the narrative flow isn't disrupted.

You: I don't even know what you mean by that.

Romie: Look, I'm basically compassionate.

You: So?

Romie: So when people screw me over, I can generally see how their behavior is justified. Of course, I also see how they're screwing me over.

You: Yeah, but how do they unless you tell them?

Romie: They wouldn't get it anyway.

You: You're horribly elitist sometimes.

Romie: You wound me.

You: So now you're angry at me, too?

Romie: Probably. See how my telling you didn't change your antagonistic behavior?

You: You are one passive-agressive, vindictive, and inherently logical woman.

Romie: Just be glad I'm not active-agressive.

You: Fuck this. /leaves/

Romie: And usually, I'm angry because I know you're hurt.


And there are bubbles in my stomach, and the skin between my toes is dry and in five more minutes I will clean the grill in a blue towel and blue rubber gloves, and when you arrive I will smile the smile meant for two hours ago.