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Dear R:
I’m sorry that I won’t be able to make it to your pity party. I attended the last one, as you know, because I was trying to be a good friend. All I ended up with was severe anxiety and being cornered into listening to you exaggerate your problems for attention. I know you’re lying about how bad your finances are. I know that things aren’t that bad with your step son. You probably drove him to insanity. You spend more time online than with your husband. IS that because he’s awful or because you’re a crappy wife? You won’t take a job because you feel it is ‘beneath’ you. Well chickie, if you were truly struggling to put food on the table, you would take any job you could get. You whine about not being able to pay your bills then spend money on facebook games. Then you lie about it to me. I’m not an idiot, you know.
You can’t stand that I have more problems than you do, for some God forsaken reason. You want me to pity you. Well, I don’t. I just think you’re an attention seeking pathetic excuse for an adult, but curse my caring heart, I care about you so I keep putting up with your shit. Maybe one day I’ll get enough and cut you out of my life for good. I almost did once. I wish I’d gone through with it.
But yeah. Don’t complain to me anymore. I’ll find something else to do really fast.
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