Sycophancy

psychology needs a PhD in humor

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“so there’s this meeting at 5am. i don’t want to go either but will be there. i have to go but you don’t need to if you don’t want to,” he wrote.

i laughed out loud, in part cause i’d assigned him asshole status, in part cause he was super rude, in part cause he assumed i was a slacker, in part cause his compliments were deliriously unwarranted, in part cause i knew the gig was too corporate and impersonal for me, and finally, in part cause i was going to answer in a way that would confuse him about my intentions that my gut directed me not to trust him with.

“thanks for letting me know,” i wrote back.

“i’m too fuckin’ old to pretend i care when i don’t and i’m too full of questions to pretend to listen to others give bullshit answers to the unasked. why the fuck should i lose energy or sleep to accommodate someone else’s waking dream?” i thought.

i like to think that my smile says it all. it screams short-term motherfucker stuck in long-term game.

if i can play the love pieces by myself, i can be the gold found but never dug up. but that settling.

so let’s see what happens to everyone’s heart next summer.