Dear Murphy, Fuck off and die!

Yeah, Murphy, I’m talking to you.

You’ve been dogging me now for 10 months, almost non-stop. You’ve always been there, hiding in the shadows, popping out every so often to cause a bit of havoc only to vanish again.

Damned if I know how you did it, but you hid in my luggage or stowed away in the stuff we shipped down from Canada, and moved into my closet. And you’ve been there ever since. You’ve come to the office with me every day, haunting my every action, standing over every project. And I’m sure our hellish daily commute is your doing.

Then then you decided to screw around with my family…

Oh, sure, at first it was just minor things: the broken window, the near-constant ant invasion, getting our internet cancelled the day after a bill is due, the yappy dogs downstairs, loosing Alex’s license in New York City, breaking the auto focus on my camera, cancelling our credit cards when we needed them, making Alex buy a useless plane ticket, and the oh-so-wonderfully timed cold that broke out just went we got to a beach.

And that night of vomiting and diarrhea? That was a nice touch. Thank you for that.

But I really have to wonder when you switched from being an irritant to an outright antagonistic bastard. Was it wholly necessary to keep me at work so long that I don’t see my family as much as I need to? And when we finally come to a nice, long weekend where I had the time to plan a nice trip for my family, you subject Alex (and likely the rest of us) to strep throat thus cancelling the trip?!

Fuck you, Murphy. I’ve had it with your shit. I want you out of my closet, away from my family, away from my job. You are not funny, amusing, or even interesting anymore. You’re an ass. You’re a selfish worm who has no interest or care in anyone but your own self-importance.

So leave now while you still can.