ACHIEVEMENT UNLOCKED: made Kevin angry
It turns out I AM capable of anger. You just have to dick me over, then try really really hard to morally justify your behavior to everyone within earshot, in order to make me feel it. And it's still such an unfamiliar emotion for me that it will take me until 4 AM a day later to even realize that anger is what it is. And I might not even realize I've been dicked over until people point it out, no matter how obvious the dickery.
For somebody who was always so insistent upon true love, strident monogamy, and emotional trust... she sure was able to scratch off my name and write another one in there awful quick. Even in the version of the story that makes her look the most patient, she was single for four, possibly five days. And for a guy who was supposedly one of my good friends, he sure was sneaky about it. He still hasn't spoken to me about it at all. He didn't even fire off a text message to the effect of, "hey, your girlfriend is gonna be sleeping in my room from now on, how do you feel about that?" At least SHE texted me to say she was moving her stuff out. At least SHE sent me an e-mail shortly before broadcasting the news that they were In A Relationship.
And now they're posting cutesy photos on Facebook and writing declarative, broken-record statements about "knowing who your REAL friends are." Let me guess, your "real friends" are all the ones who happen to agree with you, who take you at your word, who never cared to hear my side of this story? Go ahead and believe that, if it helps you sleep at night. Anyone who thinks you just might have acted insensitively must obviously just be wrong, yeah? I suppose it's easy to feel like you made no mistakes when you deafen yourself to any voice that might say "hey, I think you're making a mistake." Or "this doesn't sit right with me." (Or, as it was once phrased most evocatively, "screw her and the horse she rode in on.")
You say it's "hard to explain." Maybe that's because if you explain it, it makes you look like a couple of total jerks.
She justifies it all by saying that while it was ending between us, I "could have handled it better." (That's when she's trying to be nice.) Well, I think everyone can agree, she could have handled THIS better. Unless her real goal was simply to attract as much attention as possible to herself and her feelings, in which case no, maybe she couldn't have handled it any better.
I know we weren't a perfect match. We were a cute couple with a fun fashion sense, a mutual affection for The Simpsons... and some very incompatible core beliefs. I know some of my beliefs are strange. But at least I was always honest. (Speaking every thought that goes through your head is not the same thing as honesty. Especially not when you're drunk. Double-especially not if you're drunk AND high.) At the very least, I was never sneaky.
Small comfort that all is when I see her next to him in the living room, all doubts cleanly censored from her face. Maybe she really has convinced herself that I didn't care. That, ethically speaking, since I obviously wasn't in love with her, she could do whatever she wanted. Well, now that she's sleeping in a room sporting a sign that says "FUCK THAT AND FUCK YOU," with a person who actually named his cat in honor of Karl Marx (despite the actual sex of the cat)... maybe once the infatuation wears off and she runs out of sad stories to tell, she'll see what "not caring" really looks like.
In the meantime... it would be nice if I could get some sleep. I think I liked it more when I just thought she was crazy. That was, apparently, more comforting than the truth.
For somebody who was always so insistent upon true love, strident monogamy, and emotional trust... she sure was able to scratch off my name and write another one in there awful quick. Even in the version of the story that makes her look the most patient, she was single for four, possibly five days. And for a guy who was supposedly one of my good friends, he sure was sneaky about it. He still hasn't spoken to me about it at all. He didn't even fire off a text message to the effect of, "hey, your girlfriend is gonna be sleeping in my room from now on, how do you feel about that?" At least SHE texted me to say she was moving her stuff out. At least SHE sent me an e-mail shortly before broadcasting the news that they were In A Relationship.
And now they're posting cutesy photos on Facebook and writing declarative, broken-record statements about "knowing who your REAL friends are." Let me guess, your "real friends" are all the ones who happen to agree with you, who take you at your word, who never cared to hear my side of this story? Go ahead and believe that, if it helps you sleep at night. Anyone who thinks you just might have acted insensitively must obviously just be wrong, yeah? I suppose it's easy to feel like you made no mistakes when you deafen yourself to any voice that might say "hey, I think you're making a mistake." Or "this doesn't sit right with me." (Or, as it was once phrased most evocatively, "screw her and the horse she rode in on.")
You say it's "hard to explain." Maybe that's because if you explain it, it makes you look like a couple of total jerks.
She justifies it all by saying that while it was ending between us, I "could have handled it better." (That's when she's trying to be nice.) Well, I think everyone can agree, she could have handled THIS better. Unless her real goal was simply to attract as much attention as possible to herself and her feelings, in which case no, maybe she couldn't have handled it any better.
I know we weren't a perfect match. We were a cute couple with a fun fashion sense, a mutual affection for The Simpsons... and some very incompatible core beliefs. I know some of my beliefs are strange. But at least I was always honest. (Speaking every thought that goes through your head is not the same thing as honesty. Especially not when you're drunk. Double-especially not if you're drunk AND high.) At the very least, I was never sneaky.
Small comfort that all is when I see her next to him in the living room, all doubts cleanly censored from her face. Maybe she really has convinced herself that I didn't care. That, ethically speaking, since I obviously wasn't in love with her, she could do whatever she wanted. Well, now that she's sleeping in a room sporting a sign that says "FUCK THAT AND FUCK YOU," with a person who actually named his cat in honor of Karl Marx (despite the actual sex of the cat)... maybe once the infatuation wears off and she runs out of sad stories to tell, she'll see what "not caring" really looks like.
In the meantime... it would be nice if I could get some sleep. I think I liked it more when I just thought she was crazy. That was, apparently, more comforting than the truth.