My Letter of Thanks, to Lady Luck and Life Itself

Dear Lady Luck, and Life too, while we’re at it,

How’s it going?  Doing well?  You’ve been going on or billions of years, so I guess so.  Oh, me?  Well, I’m actually doing pretty shitty, no thanks to you.  I finally got closure on a relationship that I lost.  It finally came to an official end.  I got the usual “I still love you” thing, as she closed the door and that was that.  Can we still be friends?  I mean to try.  After all, I have so few friends left that this is the best I can do.  I’m loved by few, liked by fewer.  But hey, that’s life, right?  That’s what you do.

I have been the most dedicated friend that one can possibly be.  I have gone out of my way to help people, knowing that I am not going to be getting a single thing back from it.  There were points where I didn’t even get internal satisfaction from it.  And what is my reward?  I’m kicked around like a sick dog, used and thrown away, forgotten or worse than that – pitied.  Is loyalty such a undesired trait in the modern world?  After all, it seems like after a couple of meetings, people are swearing eternal love to one-another.  I have said it to very few people.  It has almost never ended well, so I doubt that I will ever say the words again.  Love is becoming so foreign to me that my heart is freezing over with ice.  Thanks for that.  Thanks for giving me no chances to do the right thing.  Or when I do, thanks for putting people in my life who don’t give two fucks about that.

I also wish to thank you for making my body a lemon that is so unpleasant and so broken that I have am going to be looking into disability so I can get ahead in this cruel world that doesn’t give a fuck who you are or how hard you’ve tried.  Thank you for making my feet numb and my neck fused.  Thank you for making my brain fucked up and my body toxic to itself.  Thank you for turning my entire life into one giant medical fiasco after another, with no end in sight.

And it would be remiss if I didn’t give credit where credit is due for the fact that I am completely unappealing, romantically.  I don’t know what it is.  I am a nice guy who tries to do right by people, but I guess that that isn’t what people want anymore.  I wish I could be more of a jerk, but it just isn’t in me.  Thanks for that, Lady Luck and Life.  You two really did a number there.

I have no desire to keep going.  Life, you are so unpleasant and so awful that I wake up wishing that I didn’t have to.  I go to my job, come home and eat another pizza single that I have in the almost-empty fridge, another stark reminder of how little I have in this world.  Can’t afford the good shit.  That is a privilege afforded only to the best of people.  I don’t have the constitution to end the story early, because I still got my cat, and I don’t know what is after all this.  Logically, it should be nothing.  But as shitty as you are, Life, if it all just ends, then I can’t have any more fun.  So we keep going down the path, no thanks to you and Lady Luck tripping me every fucking time I am enjoying the journey.

I’ll end by saying this – I hate the two of you.  You are the most unfeeling and uncaring entities there is.  Since I don’t believe in any imaginary, all-powerful patriarch, you two are as close as it gets.  And if such a patriarch did exist, and I was getting judged by him, I’d tell him that my worst quality is that I’m brutally honest, and he can go fuck himself.

Similarly, the two of you can go and fuck yourselves, rather than fuck up everyone else.  You two are awful, I don’t like you, don’t want you in my life, but I’m stuck with you.  So fuck you, and that’s all I have to say.

To close out this letter, a quote,

“I think the honorable thing for our species to do is to deny our programming.  Stop reproducing.  Walk hand-in-hand into extinction.  One last midnight.  Brothers and sister opting out of a raw deal.”  -Rust Cohle, True Detective

Sincerely yours,

Lucien Maverick


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