Disposable You

I look at my phone and I have no new text messages and no missed phone calls, and I am so fucking grateful. Because I know it’s Friday night, and while, normally, we’d be volleying back and forth with a smattering of erratic plans and party possibilities, and I jockey for a free ride to somewhere, and you stockpile party favors like post apocalyptic gold bricks. But we’re not doing that tonight, and I inhale with ease and exhale with, ‘Please, don’t text me to hang out!’ Which is probably because you’re a bad friend now, and, sure, you’ve always been a bad friend, but somehow the mutual descent into alcohol intoxication and the common conversation thread of who are we fucking tonight has been pretty entertaining for the time being made hanging out pretty acceptable for a long time. Although, now, here we are, and my little tryst with my new little disposable party friend has come to an end because, my god, you are a shitty person, and I honestly don’t really care about you. Not now, not then, and that’s all good because I’m pretty sure you never cared about me either, which is perfect! Because I actually have all these real friends over here that I’d rather be hanging out with, and, my god, you are a mess, and I’m beginning to think that you kinda make me look really bad, so go take your problems and dump them on some other temporary friend who washes off after a night partying like a vending machine tattoo. Thanks for taking all those pictures of me that I posted on Instagram, and thanks for letting this fake ass friendship dissolve like sugar and water, because it’s all going down sweet and smooth right now. Rather than still pretending to be friends, I’m glad that we can tacitly agree to the fact that we never really liked each other! You’re so fucking annoying!

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