Final Proof That I’m Cursed

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I give up. God just hates me.

I’ve been trying to meet this writer for the Cleveland Plain Dealer, Michael Heaton for like 15 years now. In 1992, I sent my mother to tape record a talk he gave at a local library because I wasn’t in town and wanted to learn how to be a columnist. Since then I’ve probably made his life miserable with emails of various levels of sanity trying to glean some kind of advice from him. So he finally is making a book signing appearance and actually invited me down. I was all ready to go there tonight and meet him and hopefully impress him with the fact that I still have his book from 1992 when I look at the club’s website and find out that the signing was last week.

He sent me the email invitation on Wednesday – I got it Sunday morning! How that evenĀ fucking possible? God is holding up my emails just to fuck with my life! I’m seriously reaching the Salieri breaking point!

“From now on, we are enemies…you and I. Because you choose for your instrument a boastful, lustful, smutty, infantile boy and give me for reward only the ability to recognize the incarnation”

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