I Am Jacks Wasted Life

Those who live in glass houses…
Listen here fuckwad; you have absolutely no right to complain about me. EVER. If you lived to be 100, it would still not be possible for me to heap as much shit on you as you have on me.
First of all, you and our parents have known that they were going to move for upwards of 3 years. THREE YEARS that went by with little or no actual planning for this momentous occasion. Secondly, remember the month worth of garage sales? How many of those days were you there to help out? I don’t remember seeing you there more than once, and I was there nearly every day. Bearing in mind, I DON’T LIVE THERE! Which reminds me, the Computer Desk that I was trying to sell, the one you put a “Sold” sign on right away so you could have it and then decided you didn’t want it? I still want my $50.
I also find your description of our trip to Chicago this past weekend interesting. I mean, it was only a trip to celebrate our anniversary. I can see how you might forget about our anniversary, what with your hardly finding time to attend the wedding and all. Oh, and thanks for the wedding gift too. We’re really enjoying the NOTHING that you gave us.
Regardless, you have had almost 2 months to get the house taken care of. Weekend before last, you call me and want to plan. I say Sunday or Monday night because I don’t start classes until Tuesday. You say Monday night. (Postponement #1)
Monday night I call you and you’re at some bar in North Minneapolis. (Postponement #2) Tuesday night I have class, I call you again afterword, and you’re busy. (Postponement #3) Suddenly on Wednesday, the sky is falling. “You realize we’re screwed?” you say. I get a call from Dad saying that he hears “rumors” that I’m going to Chicago when we were supposed to be having a sale.
Funny, I don’t remember committing to that.
That night after class I call, and you’re off to Karaoke. It doesn’t matter though, because you’ve “made your decision.”
“I’m just getting a big ass dumpster and throwing it all away!”
Fine, take the easy, half-assed way out. It doesn’t bother me. Hell, I’m getting used to it by now. Take some potshots at me. You’re not fooling anyone. I know of no one who leads a more self-centered shallow existence. I hope you enjoy your time there in the kiddie-pool, while the rest of us adults enjoy the deep end.