I remember what's after "Acute Anger"; it's "Slow, Steady Dissolution Of Every Positive Feeling That I Ever Had About The Person."
I used to scream and yell about it, until I realized that my anger didn't do anything except excite all the people around the person, who would then turn into a mob, whose frenzy would tend to cause everything from the person being invited to talk shows to women being on magazine covers with their hands between their legs to entire movies and television shows being produced based on the person's perceived rejection of me.
It doesn't seem to me that you've rejected me. It seems to me that I rejected you, and you're still mad not only about that but perhaps also about all the unattractive pictures of myself that I published while trying unsuccessfully to convince my haters that I'm not a manstealer. It's funny, because they enjoy the ugly pictures of me and never do stop calling me a manstealer anyway.
It's not my obligation to make sure that nobody ever thinks that you could love an ugly woman. It's also not my obligation to perish of gratitude if you, in your own estimation, graciously indicate that you forgive me for my ugliness because you are not shallow.
I didn't ask you to love me, or try to make that happen. I said "Stop hitting on me." I don't know what you thought would happen if you didn't stop hitting on me; I guess my publishing ugly pictures of myself was not what you were hoping that I would do.
I don't really think that I have done anything irreparably wrong, and I would appreciate it if you would stop acting as if I have.
Copyright L. Kochman, September 18, 2015 @ 6:15 p.m./edited @ 6:26 p.m.
