Two Weeks Notice

Damn you internet! Damn you for the unnatural habits you have formed in my thoughts. Damn you for the false sense of entertainment that beguiles me into checking up on you constantly—like a newborn child—you whine, even though you do not have a voice to call your own. Your very birth into existence fell from heaven unexpectedly, when I too was still a child—too young to know any different, without parents for a guide. I thought it was the right thing for both of us, to embrace your innocence, to feed and clothe you, to coddle and take proud pictures of progress along the way. We're family, with a relationship as neurotic as any other.

I existed before you. I had a whole life without you, full of friends, youth and good-health... well... what I'm getting at is... you need to get a job and start helping out around here, or... let me make this clear... you need to move out. Consider this your two weeks' notice. That means you need to figure your shit out, or... well... I'm changing the locks.

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