Feeling: irritable
Listening to: Tori Amos - Hey Jupiter (Haunted Closet mix, fittingly- hee hee)
Reading/Watching: Sword Singer. Page 250. I don't dilly-dally.

"I am so sorry about Friday."

Of course you are, Drew. You're really good at that: being sorry. You kinda suck at being around, but you really get the prize for all the sorrys.

Just once, could you not be sorry? Could you not do something that requires an apology?

Once? Could you be here, and not sorry?

And could it be a time when I'm happy, and want to laugh, rather than always when I'm on the brink of madness and you're sweeping up pieces? You're great at midnight rescues, but I begin to think if I don't purposely let my life fall apart and thus engender my own emergencies, I might never see you.

I have seen your face twice this summer. First time, it was when I was on the verge of never speaking to you again, and you knew it. Second time, I was crying, and there was no one else. I appreciate it, and I don't want to be some kind of demanding bitch who says nothing is ever enough, but... there are so many times you've flaked out on me. When you say you'll be there, you promise. And you forget, decide against it, fall asleep, whatever.

I keep thinking about those times.

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