Oh, I don’t think quite yet. We have things to talk about.
I don’t want to talk. I want to sleep.
Or we could play a fun game.
Or sleep.
Nope. Fun game time.
What’s the game?
It’s called “Your life is a complete failure.”
That’s not a fun game.
It is for me.
But aren’t you me?
Yes and no.
And can’t I control you?
Good luck with that. Let’s review your twenties.
Please don’t.
You poured a pitcher of beer on your head at a happy hour with your boss present.
Oh Christ.
Then you . . .
Nope . . .
C’mon. I love this one. You said, “Look at the rack on that waitress.”
I didn’t know she was his wife.
What about that time, in a meeting, you thought Arkansas ended with the letter “w” . . .
You suck.
And wrote it on a whiteboard in a staff meeting and everyone laughed. At you.
I’m going to sleep.
Fine. Good night.
Really?
Sure. Sleep well.
Oh. Okay.
Lyme disease.
What?
Nothing . . .
John Kenney, Love Poems for Anxious People
