There are ants all over my counter. Climbed out from the crack between the dishwasher and the wall. up the lip of the granite counter top and strait to a lid of sugar water where twenty or so ants have drowned. but these ants are smarter. They perch on the lip, their feelers moving frantically as they slowly lower down and drink. Drink till their abdomens are swollen and golden when the light passes through. they depart in a line the way they came, their heavy bodies only making it slightly more difficult to descend the sheer vertical edge of the countertop. More and more come, seeking this oasis to bring back to their colony, but little do they know it will soon be the end of them. They taste the sweetness, not the sharpness of borax, the stench of death they're carying back to their children and their lovers, assuming the dosage isn't to high and they die before they make their way back, having travelled many ant miles only to be burned from the inside with the harsh chemicals of human creation.
i don't know what it is but i cant stand you anymore. maybe because I've been with you for 6 weeks straight. then i got two weeks of freedom, glorious freedom, and it's hard to come back to living in this house, with you, with whom i now associate all the wonderful memories of arguments that you could never bare to lose, the days spent waiting at each corner for you as you lagged behind inconsiderately taking pictures.
my friend told me last night, in alcohol fuelled praise, that you were real. that she had incredible respect for you. and i just couldn't agree. you're real only in the sense that you let us know exactly what is on your mind without bothering if it upsets us. but you don't take the time to listen to me, to consider my opinions, because everything anyone else thinks is completely illogical and a waste of time. you can't grasp that you're views aren't one size fits all. they don't work for everyone; especially not me. You can't...
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