Every Man Who Has Been a Part of My Life Did Nothing But Piss Me Off

My mother left me a message asking what I did with the pen I used the last time I was over. Apparently, it was her boyfriend's pen and he wants it.

That pen? That pen which was handed to me by the boyfriend from a mug of similar pens? That pen which I used to transcribe the boyfriend's grandfather's 1932 journal so that the boyfriend can share it with the rest of his family? That pen? Is that the pen he means?

I lost it, bitches. All right? I lost it. It's probably somewhere in the woodpile he calls a bedroom/home office. And I remember losing it. I remember the moment when I no longer knew where the pen was. And why did I retain that moment? Because I knew he would be freaskishly anal about it.

So yes. The pen is lost, guy. Your generic clicky pen with a rubber grip is lost. I understand that there are certain pens that we all prefer and sometimes we lose those pens and we are momentarily bummed-out by the loss and then we MOVE THE FUCK ON and do not have our girlfriend contact her daughter at 7:30 in the morning looking for a fucking pen, you fucking freak.

And when the fuck are you going to do my taxes? Am I going to have to wait until the middle of summer for my refund again? If you're going to be half-assed, I'll go elsewhere. You offered to do them. "No trouble at all," you said and that's why I agreed. So stop saying you'll get to it and fucking get to it.

I should leave a phone message of just the sound of me clicking a pen repeatedly.