Meet my middle finger

"Maybe you're imagining things," Asia said. She loved insisting it.

It's funny how much a week can change, or how much changes in a week. My only sense of security got shattered. The office bitches have stopped being subtle, deciding instead to go one step shy of outright high school bullying. Things have not gone the way they're supposed to be. Maybe I am imagining, that this is another cosmic conspiracy to kick me out of existence, but I'd rather think everything is becoming as mindless and mundane as an idiot. Absolutely no consideration for me.

And so, this world deserves my middle finger. Six billion people in the world, and then there's me. And yes, you'll all say that I'm luckier, that perhaps half of the population are facing death by hunger, or disease, or oppression, or race, or mindlessness, but you do not have the right to contest what I'm saying. That's tantamount to not listening, to not caring, and that's not what justice is supposed to mean in the first place. (What justice is there to talk about when the offended are being blamed for causing the offenders to exist in the first place?) I don't want any more of that.

Think about it, though. I don't trust the world, but is it wrong to expect something good from it? Hah, I deserve much more from you, who swiftly turn to an apathetic insensitivity when I come around. I deserve so much more.

I refuse to think I'm just imagining things.

And your responses...

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