I thought we were friends, and now I see that it was more a fantasy than a real thing. I met you a decade ago, or so, and we kept in touch for so many time on Facebook –I don't even remember when was the last time I saw you, but it was probably around 2008, when I got married–, and a few months ago I even tried to make a deal with you –a podcast–, but you said that you were pretty busy –at that time I worked on awful conditions, teaching classes from 1 pm to 6 pm on a daily basis, among other duties– and I just found it arrogant.
You have changed, you have became so radical. You confirmed the stereotype I have about writers: they act like if their readers –the rest of the world– are the dumbest humans on Earth. The writers I talk about don't care about nothing but themselves.
So disappointing.
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