Diary of an Oxygen Thief (The Oxygen Thief Diaries, #1)

by Anonymous

They say the sea is actually black and that it merely reflects the blue sky above. So it was with me. I allowed you to admire yourself in my eyes. I provided a service. I listened and listened and listened. You stored yourself in me.

They say you’re not punished for your sins, you’re punished by them.

There exists in Minnesotan myth a fabled phenomenon: At certain temperatures—somewhere in the minus forties—a cup of coffee can be thrown in the air and it will crystallize before hitting the ground. I heard this at least three times before experiencing my first winter. The purpose, I suppose, of this little fact was to scare the fucking shit out of newcomers.

I can still say, hand on heart, that I weathered two Fucking Freezing Minnesota Winters. I served my time.

It is my humble opinion that a lot of the civil rights protests—and indeed, a good portion of this fine country’s problems, including the Civil War and the assassination of more than one president—can be attributed to the absence of air-conditioning.