I hate my friends.
In the most flexible sense of the word, of course. I don’t hate my friends for being my friends as much as I hate the fact that they, too are as vacuous and dull as the Suicide Blonde. There is truly only one person gracing God’s green Earth who can even remotely fathom the psychological minefield of friendship, and she lives approximately 726 miles away. If one were to make their great American way up the Great American highway, one might reach their nebulous destination in about 11.5 hours. This of course, does not factor in the time it would take before that Great American car overheated in the heavy heat of the bull goose loony United States of America and you had to hitchhike your merry way all the way up to Detroit, Michigan, to a little Catholic bubble nestled smack-dab in the middle of a concrete hellhole. However, with the aide of quantum entanglement, there is someone else in the world who, like myself, finds nothing more exhilarating than sitting back and watching it all unfold.
When I was younger, I found solace in friendship. I bonded quickly with people and valued them as friends. I was under the foggy, trusting presumption that these were people I connected with. One by one, however, they plucked themselves off the straight and narrow road of functionality. I found myself miraculously sane and relatively unfazed, still at least trying to function within society’s boundaries. For a while, I bore the burdens of others, but that raging streak of cynicism thankfully allowed me to snip the last threads of hope I had that I might be talking to these people in five years. Alas! No longer do I succumb to the cumbersome predictability of faceless friends and foes and hybrids of the two. Neutrality is the most difficult state of mind to achieve.
And yet, I come closer and closer to equilibrium each day as I realize how much better off I am when I’m actually aware of the downfalls of my peers. I hoard my respect for people who prove themselves worthy. When I allow myself to fully entrust people with my friendship, it’s more than deserved. I’ve learned that the bond of time is in no way a contract. It took me years to recognize how little I actually like the people I call my friends. I care about their well-being – God forbid anything were to happen to them – but when it comes down to it, I get absolutely nothing out of the relationship. Memories are all that bond us.
Indeed, this was a very nasty and isolating realization to come to. It’s more and more difficult each day to have a conversation with these people without finding myself awestruck at the kind of vapid dribble their dim-witted minds produce. I pick apart every word and instinctively psychoanalyze them, always coming to the same conclusion – they’re nuts.
