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To Dear Arthur

Dear Arthur,

I hope you know how much it tears me into pieces every time I tell you I'll be spending the rest of the day working on your job and then hang up and get pushed and pulled into 100 other jobs. Or it might be Adele singing her heart out in the background making everything sound like a heartache. But I do sincerely feel bad about letting your job down day after day. I hope you know that.

And I'm sorry I don't know all the things you thought I knew how to do. I think you've figured it out by now and I feel bad about it.

& I'm sorry I get confused by bureaucracy, this game of passing the paper tray on, with all so many booby traps, I feel bad about not loving my job, and about hating the politicians, and hating the neighbor with the chain saw, and wanting to scream at everyone every hour of the day to leave me the fuck alone & not leave me alone! 

Sometimes the anger is so consuming I get confused by what I've said & what's been only in my head. So I just feel bad in general & I go to bed feeling like a naughty child. But you don't need to know that.

Dear Arthur, no one wants to live like this but how else shall I live? Do you have an idea? Because I could really use an idea...

Sincerely yours,

me

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