Let me tell you how to live your life. I am your friend, after all. Well, yes, we have not shared in truth in a while, and your name does not pass my lips in prayer, but it does when I complain about you. About how you have made such a mess of things, of how your life could be so much better than this. Let me tell you how your life should go. I am standing on the outside, and I can see your situation so much clearer than you can.
My comments are not out of genuine concern, obviously, and neither are they born of love; they are merely because I know better, and you should listen to me. If you had listened the first time, we would not be in this mess now, would we? Well, not ‘we’, you.
No, of course, my life isn’t perfect, but can’t you see it’s so much better than yours? In truth, it is maybe only slightly better; you probably fare better on a lot of counts, but in the most obvious matters, my shit is so much more together than yours. Don’t you want some of the better I have? And yes, I have allowed curve balls and bile to stir my insides until I look in the mirror and see the bitter, nagging monster I spent all my life vowing never to become, running away from. You know, that one we talked about years ago. The one that is so soaked in bile that bitterness seeps through every pore and laces every word, every action. But what difference does that make? I’m still better than you.
Now, listen to me. This is how your life should go…