Psst. Hey. You. Yeah, you Megan.
Oh, hey Blog. What’s up?
“What’s up”? Seriously? You ignore me for three weeks and then you’re all “What’s up?” like nothing is wrong?
You what? You’re too busy?
Yes. I am very incredibly busy! I have A LOT going on right now, Blog. I’m sorry. It’s crazy busy at work (January and BOOM! Everybody wants to get healthy!). Not to mention we have this new doc that’s come on and nobody knows what they’re doing. AND we’re hiring someone to take my place so I can MOVE to Austin. I’ve been working like…10 hour days, Blog. And weekends!
Sure, sure. But really? I mean, 10 hours a day – that still leaves like 14 hours to show me some love?
I know. I know that things have been weird with us lately. I’m just so tired and my days are so boring, I have nothing to really talk about, you know? I wake up, go to work, my patients suck, I have ‘senioritis’, I’m hungry and sleepy all day, then I go home and stare at the tv for an hour. End day. My life is really dull, you don’t want to hear about that. It’s boring.
How do you know? Maybe I do.
Come on, Blog. I promise things will be better when I’m less stressed. Less tired.
But you’re not too tired to spend time browsing Pinterest and watching Seinfeld reruns are you?!
Oh, uh. Well, I mean it just helps me wind down at night, Blog. They don’t MEAN anything to me.
I SAW YOU WITH A GLAMOUR MAGAZINE THE OTHER NIGHT! AND IN THE BATHTUB NO LESS!
Shit. No one was supposed to know about that. I’m sorry, Blog. I really am. But I – I was thinking about you the whole time I swear! While I was reading that Glamour magazine, I was thinking about how “A Beauty Bucket List” is the most absurd thing I’ve ever heard and how I don’t NEED Glamour’s permission to “Let it go to voicemail and then text them back”. Really, I mean, that’s fantastic writing fodder. It was all for you, Blog. Everything I do is for you.
Yeah, well it still hurts.
Hey! I’m trying over here! Somebody has to make some money to afford the lifestyle you require, Blog.
You don’t commit to anything!
I’ll commit to punching your face.
Fine, I’m flakey! I’M FLAKEY! I’m still going to punch you in the face.
You would never. Your ego depends on my popularity. You would never hurt me.
I know. I’m sorry, Blog. Please don’t go. We’re just going through a rough patch. Soon I’m going to move to Austin where I won’t have a job and we’ll have all the time in the world to discuss food and jobs and drinking and fun. I promise, Blog. I promise. Please don’t go.