Friends

Let’s face it. When it comes to you, I make a prize idiot of myself 99% of the time. But I thought that you would look past that and were genuine in your offer of having casual drinks as friends. I mean, you even said that you were looking forward to it. But I guess that was all lies too. Either way, the fact is that tomorrow is Thursday, and you move out of your dorm for the holidays on Friday. Why is this relevant? Well, because, if I am to drink with you and get decently tipsy enough to be incapable of operating a vehicle and therefore be forced to spend the night in bed with you, then this must all happen tomorrow. Because tomorrow is Thursday. And you know what? Tomorrow will make exactly one week since I’ve been home. And one week of me thinking/hoping/expecting you were sincere in your desire to hang out, as friends, and that you would notify me when I should arrive at your dorm to have a good time. But apparently, you’re too busy doing who knows what (because I certainly don’t) to even send me the briefest text message courteously informing me that you are otherwise occupied for the week and that I should let the idea of our scantily clad bodies squished against each other on a twin size dorm bed go. As the universe, or really just you, would have it, I am left confused and wondering what the hell I am supposed to do now that there is no hope of that steamy reunion ever happening. The truth is, that’s all I really wanted for Christmas, and you won’t even do me the decency of informing me that it will not happen. Texting someone “sorry, I’m too busy, can’t get together this week,” takes maybe 30 seconds of your time. Hell, I don’t even care if you texted me while you were taking a shit. But the fact that you won’t do it fills my head with images of you sucking face with some dipshit and I can’t handle that. So why don’t you just text me motherfucker?