Ode to my Crazy

Dear Child,

If I had a trophy cabinet, you'd not be in it. It would be for trophies, not wrapping or filler. When you're playing games, you have to be willing to accept a win or a loss, but you need the intelligence to know what constitutes a win and what doesn't. If you had what it takes to play chess well enough, you might (emphasis on the existence of possibility not on the presence of probability) have picked up that part of strategy is predicting reaction. In other words, you manipulate the player, not just the game pieces. I fear that analogy is too complex to explain in writing, and I have since lost the tolerance for your mediocre acts of playing grown-up. Also, I understand that your upbringing has made you comfortable with the role of victim, but comparing yourself to an actual victim cannot be the only way to establish your identity. Of course I care, which is why I'm discussing this on a blog about the things in life that don't matter rather than updating my status in a vague but remotely suggestive manner (I suspect there is some semantic redundancy in that statement but I don't care enough to confirm). Petty and pathetic. You'd think there wasn't more to life. Delayed reaction to rejection? I guess everyone has their own way of coping. And another thing, the whole idea behind threats is the question - what are you going to do? I am completely and utterly intimidated. This is a very interesting topic but I'm yawning too much already. I've always thought that you were a perpetrated fraud, every facet of  your being desperately cultured to reflect the lie that you are more than you actually are. If you have any doubts, take a moment to compare your thoughts late at night with your statements in broad daylight. Classic case of form without substance.

Yours faithfully,
I-care-so-much-what-you-think Do-your-worst

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