Ever since you called me I've had a back ache.  Just stop.  Stop with your smug satisfaction and all the personal gratification you get out of making me miserable.  Just about the only thing I have going for us now is I can only assume that the less time you spend with me/talking to me/emailing me: the happier you are.

Your curt, prompt response to my email was more than sufficient enough to answer my question.  I certainly did not require a several-hours-later phone call just to appease all the great comebacks you thought of between waking up and bitching about it to [           ].  Who is your prime enabler, after your mother.

Instead of calling me, why don't you go out and find a positive female role model to replace all the crazy unstable bitches.  Maybe find a girl who has a job you might want someday and figure out how she got there by asking her informative, direct questions?

I emailed you last night because you still have my laptop and I am working with a singer who needs a laptop because she's poor and wonderful and talented.

I need to email her reference vocals and new tracks for rehearsal.  She's unbelievably talented but she is rough.  She is raw.  She's in the prime of my life.

But let's get one thing straight: there is no point whatsoever in dwelling on the ways that I've made you unhappy.  You are the kind of person that enters a wonderful environment and looks for ways that it can make you unhappy.  The sad part is that this is a matter of self-esteem.  You don't think you're good enough or skinny enough to be good for anyone or anything and so you don't respect anyone who loves you.  Last summer I made a tremendous amount of money and I took you on wonderful trips every week and you managed to have a freak out on every single one of them. 

We go to the beach and you complain that I read too much (reading on the beach is just about the most wonderful thing on the planet)--did I mention it was Mercutio research?  I looked up every few pages to kiss you.  Nice big forehead kisses from my plush Celtic lips.  For lunch we had a bottle of white wine and we were having such a nice time that I iPhoned where there was a hotel near a movie theater.  We took a cab to some cute little village.  Our day trip became a weekend.

We had dinner at some goomba place.  We saw "Get Smart."  We snuggled under the coarse hotel sheets and we were very happy.

I understand that train schedules are difficult at times and carrying a bag full of makeup and outfits and crap gets tiring.  But that's what traveling is like.  It's hard, satisfying work that lets you see the world and escape the city.  There is absolutely no reason to ever groan and say, "Ugh, Paris is so loud."  BECAUSE YOU ARE IN FUCKING PARIS.

When we were having a rut in the winter I took you to Miami so that we could see the sunshine and dance with Eurotrash and sun topless.  When we were looking for a little spring break I snuck you into a forbidden island in the Caribbean.

Also, your brothers and sisters were sweet and I really liked your Dad.  I'm going to miss these people.  But that Christmas card from your grandmother that said not to waste your time with me?  "It's much easier to marry someone with $ than someone who's poor and doesn't deserve you.  You're too beautiful."

Yes.  I'm poor.  I have big bills (most of them credit card bills from taking you around the globe).  But that doesn't make me any less tall, handsome or talented.  Do you have any idea why I drink so much?  It's so I can dumb myself down to planet earth.  That way I don't alienate too many people with my incandescent  brilliance.  Last week in the studio Justin asked me for the perfect hook and it was out of my mouth before I thought of it (and I had a mouthful of whiskey/diet coke--which is something I only drink with him).

So yes, instead of starting the financial crisis or getting my MBA or bilking poor people out of their land rights, I wrote four novels and a hit record.  No big deal.

I forgot to mention this: you probably think I'm sleeping with the singer.  I can only assume this is the reason that you won't help me out.  God forbid you support me--just this once.  Remember at my first show with the full band, right after we finished the single when you fucking freaked out because I didn't pay enough attention to you?  What is wrong with girlfriends?

You've assumed I've been sleeping with every woman in my life who isn't my mom.  Why?  Did your Dad cheat on your mom?  Why don't you spread the word among all the girlfriends of the world: WE ARE NOT YOUR FATHERS.  We are the most dynamic generation of young men who have ever existed.  We do not have their insecurities (we invented new ones) we don't have the onus of providing for a family until we die (women of our generation tend to go start new careers just as ours tapers off).  We're also the best educated and we have the most amount of pornography that has ever existed.  Which means: we don't feel like we have small dicks and if we need some bullshit fantasy to make us feel like big men we can watch any number of black guys cum on some trailer park bitch's face.

I don't watch porn (it's boring and unpoetic).

I don't cheat on girlfriends (you do it once and it becomes your stupid game.  If you don't have the balls to break up with a girl so you can fuck some waitress: you are not a real man).

According to the Hans Eisnick study: you should maybe drop out of whatever therapy you think is working for you and just ask yourself a few questions.  Do I feel like every relationship is a rerun?  Am I capable of being happy?  Is there something I do constantly to sabotage my own happiness?  What about the happiness of others?

Is there something I can do today to make one person happier?

Yes.  You can drop off my laptop at the bar of your choice, text me about it, then delete my number, start taking yoga and maybe treat yourself like the wonderful, beautiful, caring big-sister that everyone loves.

Because you're too good for this.