I love listening to you vent about stupid people, even though you don’t give me the details. I’m not sure where that comes from. I certainly don’t like the idea of you having to suffer fools. I certainly don’t like the idea of you having a bad day. I could say that, if I had my way, I’d evaporate all the imbeciles and clowns that drag you down, but without some struggle life would fail to be interesting and we would be dull people. If we were dull people there’s no possibility we’d be together, so clearly I can’t wish for that chain of events. At best I wish I could replace these particular challenges with something less tiresome and engaging for you. Of course, I can do neither, so we soldier on, surrounded by the average, oblivious people that cover the landscape.

Maybe I love listening to you vent, because it reminds me why we connect so well. We’ve had the conversation before that we both converse on a different level, the negative spaces between our words communicating as much as the actual words we speak or type. We have a shorthand that lets us keep up with each other, and expresses deeper thoughts and feelings. And because we’re accustomed to, and enjoy, conversing in such a manner, communicating with the Hoi Polloi only becomes more frustrating and tiresome. So perhaps, when you’re venting about a particularly slow witted colleague, it reminds me of how well we connect, and happiness floods over me.

Maybe I love listening to you vent, because I know, or at least believe, you guard yourself from emotional outbursts. You always strike me as coldly organized, competent, level headed, and professional. Maintaining that standard surely takes its toll, and you have a well cultivated habit of not breaking it. It’s flattering to know that you trust me enough to let go, to let me see what’s racing through your thoughts. I know you can’t and wouldn’t do that with just anyone. You remind me that I must be something special, and very lucky to have you in my life.

Maybe I love listening to you vent, because our circumstances give me so little opportunity to take care of you. You’re accustomed to being the caretaker, in so many more dimensions than most people should be expected to be. It breaks my heart to imagine you without someone to share that burden, to help prop things up on those shitty days when you just need a God damned break. Helping in such a small way is empowering, even just listening to you rail about a client.

I know you’ll be working while you’re gone, and will inevitably have one of those days. I’m saddened you won’t be free to pick up the phone and unload. But you can imagine it. Imagine me on the phone with you listening to you decompress. Imagine me on the phone reminding you you’re not being whiny. Imagine me on the phone saying “nah nah nah don’t worry about it” when you apologize for it.  Because, baby, you’re the best.

And that other guy is a fucktard.