It's not that I miss him, it's that I miss the IDEA of him. Like the three-legged neighbourhood dog or the retarded crossing guard, you just assume that they'll always be there. I don't NEED him in my life. I know when it looks like I'm writing a letter. I'm fine without you interrupting me while I'm trying to fight my third consecutive audit or brag to my great aunt about my most recent sexual conquest. It felt great when I got rid of you. But now that you're gone, I feel like no one cares.
You were always there when I didn't need you, sitting in the corner with your shifty, seductive eyes. You made me feel like what I was writing about mattered. When I was writing my letter of resignation from Boston Pizza's Management Training Program, you weren't there to offer the most appropriate template. When I was ghostwriting my friend's suicide note, I never saw you. I felt like I should be the one in the bath with the George Foreman grill instead of my friend Greg, God rest his soul.
I pushed you away and I don't know if I'll ever get you back. I suppose nothing is forever. That three-legged dog was eventually run over by a car, mainly because the retarded crossing guard was busy masturbating in front of some elderly women. He too was ostracized by the people he was trying to help. All he wanted was to be a part of the community and offer what he could. Sometimes the most noble intentions are misunderstood.