End of the Line

I am done with you.  I’ve tried keeping you in my life, but at a distance.  I am over your self-pity; I am over your inappropriate comments.  And yet, you took a somewhat bizarre move to cut me out – I would say I am upset, but that wouldn’t be the truth.  You crossed a line on Saturday night and I cannot even think of calling you a friend anymore.

I have told you about my previous encounters with certain women; I have told you about my friend and I having shared a few kisses, some with more heat than others.  I never really understood why I told you – maybe it was my desire to talk to someone about it or maybe it was slightly maliciously motivated.  I admit it wasn’t the best of decisions considering your negative mindset and outlook on most everything in the world.

Saturday night I was with Caitlin – we cooked dinner and watched a couple of movies.  We were going to go out afterwards to our one of our favorite watering holes – McKeown’s.  We both knew the likelihood of you being there was rather high, despite the fact you had to work the next day.  When we walked in, we were greeted with the warmth we are accustomed to and there you were at the end of the bar.  Well on your way to getting drunk.  You were reserved, but to me, I felt uncomfortable – I couldn’t stomach looking at you.

I have never been one to judge, but lately, when it comes to you, I see nothing but filth.  You make me cringe.  You are obese, but that’s not the deepest issue I have with you.  It is your lack of regard for those around you, the lack of regard for yourself.  I have grown tired of listening to you wanting to make changes and then reverting to the same behaviors and actions you have done for years.  I am done.

I know I may have been out of line, but there’s a part of me that doesn’t give a shit.  Countless times I have let so much of your inappropriate actions and words slide through the cracks.  I have never made a scene, nor have I ever told you.  It just didn’t seem worth it.  Until now.

My friendship with Caitlin is strengthening by the day and I couldn’t be happier.  She’s the type of person you want in your life – rich and complex, yet so very delicate.  Funny and lighthearted, but supportive and serious.  It’s funny, we both distinctly remember the night we met at Recovery Room – while we were both drunk, the feeling of instant connection was there.  It may have taken awhile for the others to get on board with the liking me train, as a result of you, yes you George.  Because of you I was pre-judged. 

As we stood at the end of the bar and sipped our Hoegaarden’s, we quietly spoke how we wanted to leave and head over to Recovery Room.  Perhaps we weren’t so quiet, but at this point, it’s not really an issue for me.  I said that I couldn’t take it anymore – I was over it.  We agreed to finish our beer and leave.  It wasn’t all that big of a deal, but you made it.

“All right, we’re getting out of here.”  I said to you while Caitlin was in the bathroom.

“You’re sleeping with her aren’t you?” You said with slow, slightly slurred speech.

I wasn’t surprised, but I was.  It was a low blow for even you.  “No.  Absolutely not.”

“Oh come on, you're fucking her – just admit it, your relationship with her is deeper than you’re letting on.”

“No.”  I said with conviction.

“See your firmness in reply really means something is going on.”

“No George, nothing is going on.  We’re friends.  We’ve kissed, but it means nothing – ever.  It’s just mindless shit.”  I was fuming. 

Caitlin emerged from the bathroom and was ready to go.  We bundled up and made our way out, I hung back and I decided to be the bigger person, I put my hand on your back and said, “Have a good rest of the night.”  

Looking back, you barely acknowledged it.  

We walked out and headed two blocks down and played some pool with our skee ball teammates.

This morning I felt the need to check my Twitter account – probably because I know your style.  The drunken late night, self-deprecating tweets flood your homepage.  It’s rather tiresome to be honest.  When I logged in, I noticed I had one less follower (I don’t have that many at all).  I figured it was one of the spam followers, but as I scrolled through I realized it was you that I “lost” as a follower.  An interesting measure to take – but if that’s what you need to do, then do it.  I really could care less.  After all, you crossed the line.  Always have, always will.

I have no desire to reach out to see what your deal is; I am sure you will make me out to be the villain in this situation. Perhaps I didn’t use the best judgment in this matter, but I don’t think that excuses any of your actions over the course of the nearly eight years that I have known you.  This chapter in my life is closed.  Lesson learned.