Dear Life...

Dear Life,

I used to think we were cool. It felt like we were cool. Maybe it was just the rum thinking back then and it's the terrible sobriety talking now.

But you're a son of a bitch.

Oh, sure, sure, there were the international trips, the beach days, the dinner parties, the wild nights at the bars and everything else that made me love you. And, even when my friends were talking some mad shit on you back in high school, who stood up and said you were rad?

Me.

It was me, you motherfucker.

I don't know what I did to just make you change your mind about me, but...come on, man, if there's ever been a year keep what we have alive, it'd be this year. I've donated to charity this year and I haven't stolen a single thing!

I understand why we had that rough patch back in junior high. I needed that. I needed you to totally fuck me on that one. And, boy-howdy, did you ever fuck me on that one.

But I was kind of a reckless dickhead in my first few years of college, so why choose now to make everything drag so hard, hmmm? It's like you're punishing me for being patient, supportive, hard-working and healthy. Do you want me to go back to thievery and dickery? I'll do it. So help me, I'll do it.

Fine. Whatever. You know what? I'm just going to stick around and hope you wise up and clean up your act. I know I certainly have.

Fondly,
Jake