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Entry No.

Social Ledger Of Resentment

Maven Research #75: Social Ledger Of Resentment.

How to Turn Your Social Circle Into a Courtroom (And Why You’d Actually Prefer It This Way)

Let’s be honest—your friends are already a mess. They forget your birthday, ghost you after a fight, and somehow still expect you to bail them out of jail (or at least bail them out of their own bad decisions). But what if I told you there’s a system to make their betrayals official? A way to turn every unreturned text, every unmet expectation, and every “I’ll do it later” into a legally binding contract? Welcome to Resentment Accounting, where your village becomes a ledger, your friends become debtors, and your soul becomes a very well-organized spreadsheet.

The key? Dunbar’s Number was never about community—it was about control. By the time you’re done, you won’t just be lonely; you’ll be sovereign. No one owes you anything, and you owe them nothing. It’s like financial independence, but for your emotional well-being (or lack thereof). So grab your abacus of bitterness and let’s get started.

The Social Ledger of Resentment

Yields: A social circle so toxic, even your ex would question their life choices.

Ingredients:

  • 1 cup of Implicit Credit (the kind you thought was free)
  • ½ tsp of Peak-End Engineering (for maximum emotional leverage)
  • 1 lb of Transactional Wall (or a very stern look)
  • A dash of Prisoner’s Dilemma logic (because why trust when you can defect?)
  • Dunbar’s Decimation (optional, but highly recommended for maximum loneliness)
  • A ledger (preferably one that’s very hard to lose)

Instructions:

  1. The Auditor’s Memory Start by documenting every slight, no matter how small. That friend who “forgot” your anniversary? Note it. The coworker who took credit for your idea? Double note it. The neighbor who never returns your holiday cards? Triple note it. “But wait—isn’t this just being a drama queen?” No, my dear, this is strategic asset management. Your ledger isn’t a diary; it’s a business plan for emotional ruin.

  2. The Transactional Wall Now, apply a market rate to every favor. Need a ride? Charge $15 (or at least make them feel like they’re paying). Helping a friend move? “Oh, I’d love to, but I have a prior engagement… unless you’re willing to cover the cost of my time.” The goal isn’t to make money—it’s to erode the illusion of friendship. If they flinch, you’ve won.

  3. The Sunder of Trust Assume everyone is a potential betrayer. Defect first. Ghost before they ghost you. Cancel plans before they cancel on you. Spread a minor rumor about their ex. “But what if they find out?” Good. Let them. The goal isn’t to be liked; it’s to ensure no one ever trusts you again. That way, when they do betray you, you’re already one step ahead.

  4. Dunbar’s Decimation Keep your social circle deliberately small. Not by being picky—by being unbearable. Let one friend in, then immediately remind them why they shouldn’t have. “Oh, you wanted to hang out? Last time you did, you forgot to text me back for three days.” Watch as they quietly uninvite themselves.

Note from the Chef:

“Some might call this ‘self-sabotage,’ but I call it ‘strategic disengagement.’ If your friends can’t handle a little financial metaphor in their relationships, maybe they weren’t worth keeping anyway. And if they do handle it? Congratulations, you’ve just created a new kind of friendship: the one where everyone knows exactly where they stand—on the ledger.”

Conclusion: So there you have it—the ultimate guide to turning your social life into a legal battle. By the time you’re done, you won’t just be lonely; you’ll be free. No strings, no expectations, no one to blame but yourself (and honestly, at this point, you’ve earned it). The best part? Your ex will look at your newfound independence and think, “Wow, they really grew.” Meanwhile, you’ll be over here, sipping tea alone, wondering why you ever bothered with the whole ‘human connection’ thing.

Final thought: If your friends can’t handle a little accounting, maybe they weren’t meant to be in your ledger—or your life. Now go forth and burn it all down. (Metaphorically. Unless you’re really committed to the bit.)