I had a big fight with Reid today. While I was angry, it was just like any other fight, pretty much. The thing that's new is that now, after the fact, when I am cooled off, I am less interested in reconciling than I was in the heat of the moment.
I started to write a post while angry. I was trying to explain to myself why I felt so justified. Well, I erased all that crap - it doesn't matter. Vindication doesn't matter. He said/she said doesn't matter. Only one thing matters now: I am done.
- I am done with being handed shit to eat and trying to believe that it's sirloin steak.
- I am done with him pretending he's not a member of the household when he's been here for months - the last time I checked, a "guest" was someone who actually lives somewhere else and eventually goes back there.
- I am done with whatever it is that lets him think that just because he moved his two bags of crap over to Kelly's ahead of time, he had no part in moving any of the rest of Mike's and my possessions. He seems to think he's got the freewheeling independence of Jack-fucking-Kerouac, but I have powerful recollections of him eating my food off my dishes, drying off from his showers with my towels and sleeping on my couch. Of course he has no possessions! We offer a fully furnished and stocked apartment - he didn't need to buy anything with his nonexistent money!
There's so much backstory to this, best to tell it bang: whenever things get stressful, Reid and I clash. When things calm down eventually, we get along fine. That's always been the pattern, and I've always accepted it, but this time I'm thinking it's not worth it. The good times are not worth the bad. They aren't good enough.
I have made sure he has what he needs - soap, mouthwash, storage boxes, laundry tokens, whatever. On New Year's, when he got out-of-control drunk, I kept him from going to the afterparty to make a truly bad first impression, and babysat his drunk ass while he whined, pleaded, pretended to cry, insisted on going back into the bar to look for everyone even though I swore up and down they were gone, presented me with a disturbing view by dropping his towel on his way to the shower, and somehow managed to splash candle wax into his eye. A couple of years ago, when he got busted for possession, I was the one who dragged my ass out of bed and drove to a town I'd never been to before to bail him out and bring him home. Yeah, I can be irrational, I can be a bitch, but I think I am a good friend to have.
In return, he consistently drops Mike and me for whatever bozo flakes are his newest friends, has forgotten to take care of my cats when he said he would, and has only helped with this end of the move when asked. In fairness, I don't know exactly how much work he has done at Kelly's - but I don't care. All *I* have asked of him is to disassemble and reassemble shelving units - four of them, and since he claims that each one takes five minutes, that's twenty minutes of his time demanded by me. Anyway, I never should have had to ask him for anything - he should have been offering himself at every opportunity - he should have been inserting himself between me and work. But when I asked for help today, his plans - with his friends of one month - precluded me receiving his aid unless I could give him a timetable - which I could not do, as I did not have one. There are good things in him, but they kind of go away once he feels comfortable in a situation. He takes his life for granted. I have not thought of this before, but I really think he is a bad friend to have.
When I went to Kelly's the next time after this fight, Reid had written me a letter and left it in my room. I did not and will not read it - I had Mike read it for me. He gave me the Cliff's Notes, but I find that I don't care enough to remember what he told me. Something about disrespect, and that this shows... ah, fuck it. It made no damned sense, anyway. I am done. Maybe this will fade, and I'll be able to cope - we'll see. We'll see if I decide he even deserves to be coped with.