Goddammit Diane. Signed, The Internet.

There are 36 trillion self help books and everyone on the internet has read them all.

BUT WAIT 

THERE’S MORE!

Not only have they read them,

they have applied them and adopted them and molded them 

into the very fiber of their being 

so that when they go out into the wild and interact with other humans who have also read the 36 trillion self help books, they will know how to behave precisely so as not to show any, or maybe just not too much, emotion because

That 

Is 

A

Giant 

Red 

Flag or a GRF

and we don’t wave those fuckers around here, you guuuys.  

We bury them six feet underground and plant rows of daisies and begonias and tulips on top of the fresh dirt so that when a motherfucker comes along and stumbles upon us, they will only smell the roses, as it were, and not the dank shit that is the very reason for the vibrancy of their leaves.

 Everyone is doing this now so you need to do it too because it’s just unheard of to be 41 years old and still have unresolved issues from your past because 

THERAPY, Diane! 

GET THERAPY 

and work all those kinks right the fuck out because after talking to our therapist for 26 years, we are finally ready to give ourselves to someone but we can’t give ourselves to you until you go to THERAPY because you are just a little too emotional and we are 41 years old for gods sake!  

God, Diane.  You’re so fucking yesterday.

But 

you’re also super hot

and hilarious 

and you give the best head 

and you’re fun in the bedroom 

and we laugh constantly 

and something about you just feels so goddamn familiar. 

And your tits!  They’re just the right amount of perky and sag for a 41 year old mom.  They’re kinda perfect, Diane.  

In fact, you’re kinda perfect,Diane.

 But only just kinda.

 That shit you pulled at that park in Mobile CANCELS OUT your generosity and kindness and overall hotness. 

Get yourself together now Diane and DO NOT UGLY CRY AT PICNIC TABLES IN THE MIDDLE OF THE GODDAMNED PARK!

You are embarrassing yourself

And everyone else on the internet who does yoga at 6 a.m. and drinks hot lemon water for breakfast and laughs at appropriate jokes only and has a rich and full life and who does not actually need us at all (being needed is so 1950 now, Diane) because their life is so full of wonder and joy and enriching things like museums and enlightenment

 What   do   you   even   mean   that

the light shining off this crevice in his forehead 

reminds you of that canyon 

you went down in 

when you were 14 

and  it was so dark, so dark, so dark

except for that tiny shaft of light 

peeking through at the top.  

 FUCK, DIANE!

That’s so fucking weird! 

Now

PLEASE CONSULT THIS SELF HELP APP  WE, THE INTERNET, HAVE DOWNLOADED AND PUT ON THE HOME SCREEN OF YOUR PHONE WHILE YOU WERE CRYING IN THE SHOWER.

You’re kind of a psycho, Diane.

Kind of like for real, Diane.

 But god you’re so pretty! 

And you’re so funny.  

And you’re so sweet.  

And you liked that Indian food you had never tried 

and you climb fire towers in the middle of the forest when it’s raining

and you rub our arms when we’re not expecting you to 

and you play with our beard 

and scratch our head 

and you put your arms around us just because 

and we’ve never had a woman feel so soft and so warm.

Fuck, Diane.

Can’t you just get it together for now?  

He came all the way down here 

from all the way up there.

Diane?

Why’d you have to go and drive across four states for him?

Didn’t your brothers ever tell you not to do a thing like that?

Didn’t your daddy ever tell you a man who wants you will come and get you?

Didn’t your mama ever tell you to hide your crazy?

Diane?

He almost 

Sort of

Could have

Wanted to

Love you.

Diane.  

He maybe

Sort of

Can

But won’t

Ever

Love you again.

 Because 

Everyone on the internet has read all 36 trillion self help books and have applied them and adopted them and molded them into the very fiber of their being.

And we don’t live here in this space where lines get blurred

and greens give way to browns in the same square of grass 

and ketchup clumps at the top of the bottle and we  don’t wipe it off 

and t-shirts get torn from that splinter of wood on the picnic table 

and everyone is a walking disaster all done up in their Sunday best and when they take those dresses off there are tears in the stockings underneath and sweat stains on the armpits of their slips.  

 No, Diane.

 We live on the internet where we behave precisely 

and choose our words carefully 

and time our responses perfectly.  

We live on the internet where we’ve all been in therapy for the past 26 years and are finally ready to give ourselves to someone who has also tied up all their loose ends and cut off all the frayed edges.  

We are just sitting here waiting for our perfect match.

 We thought it was going to be you, Diane.

 But that shit you pulled at that park in Mobile…….

GODDAMMIT DIANE

 

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