A Lost Weekend
by Shaun Terry
What the fuck are you talking about? You think that there’s someone I’m trying to marry? Or wanting to marry or some shit? I’m totally single. I promise. Absolutely single, and yours for the weekend, if you’re still down. I mean, where did this come from? Did we have a discussion while I was drunk? Are you on acid? If you’re on acid, I would love it if you’d consider letting me have some acid. Maybe we could do things while on acid. Could be hot. But seriously, what the fuck are you even talking about? This shit makes no sense. But please let me know about the acid, okay?
Am I hung up on my ex? Of course! Is that what you’re worried about?! Why? I’m hung up on several exes! But you think that makes a difference with you? She and I are never getting back together, first off. My most recent one, I mean. Well, any of them, I guess. I’m just mourning. It’s not that big a deal, really. I’ve been broken up with lots of time, and I’m sure it’ll happen thousands more times. Anyway, what makes you think I wasn’t imagining you while I was with (in) her? All men do that shit. And pretty much every time. Plenty of women do, too, as I understand it; as I’ve been told. I’m not trying to make it a sexist thing, okay. But also, you’re my friend and I’ve always liked you. Otherwise, how would we even have found ourselves having this discussion? But really, why does it matter how I feel about anyone else? You’re the one who suggested the sexual weekend rendezvous, and we’ve been friends for a while now. I respect and admire you. Do you think that I’ve forgotten how great you are and how sexy you are? I just don’t get this. It’s so weird to me. I mean, it’s fine and all – you’re entitled to your feelings, and I think they’re legitimate – but I just don’t understand. I want to understand.
I wouldn’t describe myself as a “good guy,” but you never communicated anything, and I don’t know where this is coming from. Did you ever ask me a question about this? Did you find something that I posted somewhere that misguided you? Did we have some conversation that I’m unaware of? Maybe you had my brain wiped clean of the memory of some interaction, like in that stupid Will Smith movie.
You knew that I was on my way to see you, and you disappeared. Did you break all of your fingers? Did Siri catch pneumonia? Whether you happen to be right or not, you have no idea what the fuck is going on. There’s no way you could. Way too goddamn presumptuous. Really. What do you think you know? And how? Fucking bullshit. I will delete you from my Facebook. I swear to God.
I mean, I realize that you might be kind-of psychic, but that doesn’t mean that you’re always right, every single time. But you’re stubborn as fuck, so it doesn’t matter what I say, huh? There’s no way you’re going to admit that maybe you made an assumption based on practically no evidence, and maybe that’s pretty un-fucking-fair, and maybe you could’ve done better. Anyway, I don’t expect an apology from you. Not really. I mean, it’d be nice, but I don’t think that you’d be likely to apologize about this sort of thing. You’ve probably deluded yourself into thinking that you’re right, anyway.
But you’re probably right, I guess. I still don’t know what about, but I basically trust you. I mean, I think that I know myself pretty well, but you’re not saying all this shit for no reason, I guess. I mean, it’s unfair and irrational, but that doesn’t mean that you’re wrong. What the fuck do I know, anyway? I’d probably just shit my pants and jack off all day, if left to my own devices. That’s the truth. I’m basically a child.
God, you have a beautiful body. Shit.