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To My Bank Account, You're Toxic and I Hate you

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I hate you more than anyone who’s ever hurt me. Because I can forget about them. I can forget the past. I can let people go, easy. 

But you? You’re always going to be here. And there, and everywhere. Like a dark cloud over my head, reminding me of how much money I (don’t) have. I’m Eeyore, and you’re my freaking cloud. 

How did this happen? LOL. I am a disaster, apparently. 

But how?

Ok, shut up. That was a rhetorical question.  I don’t want to talk to you. I don’t want to hear what you have to say. And don’t send me any alerts or emails: I know I don’t have any money, trust me.

I know how this happened. I was careless. But also, you exist. Your stupid numbers. Your stupid log of my purchases. I can’t do this anymore.

!@#$$%^&*(!@@##$%^&%^%&^%^&

EXPLETIVE. EXPLETIVE.EXPLETIVE. EXPLETIVE.EXPLETIVE. EXPLETIVE.EXPLETIVE. EXPLETIVE.EXPLETIVE. EXPLETIVE.EXPLETIVE. EXPLETIVE.EXPLETIVE. EXPLETIVE.EXPLETIVE. EXPLETIVE.EXPLETIVE. EXPLETIVE.EXPLETIVE. EXPLETIVE. EXPLETIVE. EXPLETIVE.

I don’t understand how I only have two dollars in my account. I am pretty sure that Leprechauns are hacking me. How could you let this happen? How could you do this to me? We’re supposed to be in this thing together, but it feels like you’re working against me.

And I know you’re working against me because I saw that you didn’t send me that email to let me know my funds were low, until after I made that purchase that would overdraft my account. 

You swine. You stupid jerk. What is your problem?

I don’t get paid until Friday. What am I gonna do? I can’t even afford a cheap bottle of wine to help me forget about this. 

Plus, I’m almost out of groceries. Because of you, I had to eat my feelings. So I had to eat everything in my fridge. 

Why? WHY? Why. Why. Why. Why. Why

If you cared about me at all, if you knew I had feelings, you would stop sending me reminders of the stupid purchases I make. it only makes me resent you so much that I keep making those stupid purchases. You’re only making it worse. 

Soften the blow. Leave me alone, and I’ll be more responsible. 

Why is there money, and why am I so freaking bad with it?


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