Today, I’m sick of old friends reconnecting with no intention of getting to know who I’ve become. I’m sick of self-serving fucks who schmooze about how it feels like "being home" when they’re with me when they have no idea who I am anymore, or where I am in life, and completely ignore the fact that I’m a mother now and someone else’s girlfriend. I’m sick of pathetic failures who spend all of their time building up a slipshod facade of grandeur and give themselves pompous nicknames on MySpace and wait for all the sleazy goth hoes to fellate their ego. I’m sick of self-aggrandizing assholes who won’t admit that they’re really just not that good, not that talented, but feel it’s necessary to hear themselves making grandiose statements outloud in order to keep deluding the truth, like, "I created a LiveJournal but realized that everything I was writing was just way too good to post there, so I’m saving it for publication." Then they say they care about me, but when we go out for coffee and I stop in the bathroom, they only order their own coffee, leaving me the frustrating task of flagging down the waitress for a cup of my own. Then they say they love me, like the words are laced with magic and I’m going to drop everything and leave my son and leave Henry and run off with someone who can’t keep a job and gets kicked out of school and makes shitty club music but acts like they’re a fucking Goth god who writes manifestos about the "scene" to prove it. Fuck you.