And The Winner Is...

Am I ok?

Am I ok?

Am I ok?

The possible replies are endless. Or is it more accurate to say that the possible retorts are endless.

Who wants to know?

Who is this please?

I'm ok, you're ok. I'm My Own Best Friend. Yes, I Can.  (quoth Rosanne Rosannadanna). 

Compared to you, I'm fabulous. 

Thank you for your concern. Now, fuck off, please.

I am not completely sure why this simple question touched my shredded nerve ending with a hot poker, but it did. I literally slammed my iPhone down, screen first, on the night table.

Note to self:  Slamming one's iPhone, face up or face down, accomplishes absolutely nothing of value. No one knows you did so but you (and maybe a couple of observant house cats) and thanks to the 3 pound protective rubber casing, it is wholly unsatisfying, even from an auditory standpoint. Slamming should sound like flying bowling pins. 

Haven't I been clear about the way I feel?  Haven't I expressed that there is no hope of reconciliation and even dimmer chances of friendship?  (Why so maybe someday I can sit with Craig in the church pew while he marries the reasonably cute 20 year old from the Animal Shelter where he got his 27th dog?)

What I want to say is this:  "You lost your right to even inquire about my well being when you vanished last year. So until such time when you stumble across my name in the Obituaries, assume that everything is hunky-fucking-dory, pal."

But I don't. I need to consult with my friends. This has got to stop.  Evidently my tactics have all met with failure. I need another plan.  Please, lets pull the coven together and come up with a carpet bomb reply.