jules just called to tell me that i'm a liar and that he doesn't trust my judgments or decisions
i say
find someone else to call in the middle of the night
he snorts into the phone
literally
like a sick dog
and i find his attitude his never-ending lack of respect for my feelings -- my emotional stability --
comical
fuck off i say lazily
and he spends long tedious moments telling me how sorry i'm going to be when he's gone, when i've allowed my own foolish selfishness to push him straight out of my life. he presses me. tries to see if this time, this last shove, will send me shooting away again.
look. i love you man. and i'm not sure why you've always got to make that so fucking difficult. it's really not that complicated.
i say more, then. about being self-righteous and manic and getting his head right. about not using me as a target for his constant confusion about commitment or whether of not he can or does or ever will love sharon enough or find solace in that. you make me tired. i say, after a silence too long. he hangs up the line. childish and aloof. you make me really tired, i say again to the dead space that's left -- into the empty air of my office.

and maybe that's where it ends