Recently I posed a rhetorical question to an underachiever (loser) if she thought her life had purpose and meaning. Surprisingly, she affirmed that it indeed did and proceeded to give me the reasons why she thought so. The reasons she furnished were so flimsy that I realized that I tended to underestimate the tendency of humans to inflate their own worth. Luckily for me, her ridiculous disclosure of what she thought of herself enabled me to form enough contempt for her and thus walk away from her as I finally realized that she was delusional and had an inflated, undeserving sense of self, besides being stingy and vindictive.
The unpleasant encounter with this bitch reminded me that I was still naive. Then she followed her ugly letter with two phone calls which I refused to pick up. That resulted in two vile, harsh voice messages from her, which both surprised and saddened me with their intensity. I was thus realized that words spoken in deep anger would tend to harm the speaker than the addressee. Surely enough, today I heard through the grapevine that she had died of a combination of a stroke and a heart-attack. Anger and sorrow are silent stalkers of unwise humans. I should know. They almost killed me 12 years ago. Nowadays, I just don't give a fuck anymore. Well, maybe I still do, but not as much as I used to because I have a mission. I intend to live until at least 95. You can bet your sweet ass I will. My real life has just begun.
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