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Well, what the hell are you doing over there, sitting in my loveseat, obviously drunk, holding a glass of scotch and a baseball bat? It's a little dark in here, isn't it? No no, let me turn on the light for you. Don't get up, that's okay. Really, it's no trouble. Pardon if I appear a bit startled, but when I arrived home so late this evening I did not expect to find you here, just lounging about the apartment, lurking.
Patiently contemplating hanging out
When I first saw you this evening, I didn't think much of it. You were sitting quietly in the foyer, drinking whiskey, minding your own business. It was a little unexpected, but not a big deal. I'm pretty open to meeting people (and stalkers), and I was even willing to consider you as my new, third roommate. As the hour went by and I worked on my homework, I even grew fond of you. I began to consider you my friend. But then you started to push things. The comfort of my loveseat just wasn't enough for you. You wanted more.
Suddenly, you were sitting on the chair by my computer, and I was not feeling so great about our situation. I should have told you then that I was feeling uncomfortable. I mean, it was unreasonable for me to expect you to read my mind, and I understand that it was probably my passive-aggressive tendencies in this situation that would ultimately lead to our later confrontation. I know what you were feeling—the craving for more, newer, better things. The wanderlust that pushes us to move forward, to pioneer, to explore. I've been there. I understood what you were going through, and so I didn't hold it against you.
Considering participating in a spectator sport
You see, I like to think of myself as a pretty tolerant person—but I have boundaries. I have morals, and I feel like you were pushing me faster than I was ready to go. I didn't mind sharing my apartment with you, and maybe this was my first mistake. I should have laid down the law in the beginning, rather than just assuming that we'd understand each other. I get that you like me, I mean, heck—I like you, too. But we just met each other less than an hour ago when I came home to find you sitting in my entryway. Sure, we hit it off right away, but still.
You found your way into my room and used my computer to log onto the internet and there you stayed for awhile, idly surfing forum websites and chatrooms. Our relationship plateaued nicely—you in your small spot by my desk, me sitting on my bed muttering dark words under my breath. Things were okay for a while, dude. You and me, we understood each other.
As I finished my homework and left the room to go make dinner, you were still sitting there by my computer. In fact, an hour later, when I returned from the kitchen, you were still in the same spot. I began to relax... Clearly, you and I had reached an understanding. Feeling at ease, I fell asleep. And things were good.
And you weren't pushing too hard, I admit. Just sitting there by my computer, silently. You weren't actually doing anything wrong, but sometimes, it's not your actions that count, it's your intentions. I felt that your intentions in situating yourself somewhat by my bed were somewhat less than honorable. I mean, I don't even understand how you got into my apartment in the first place. For all I knew, you were planning to hop right into my bed at any second! Sharing a bed is a big step, and one that I was definitely not willing to make.
Loitering and lingering a little too long
I began to grow concerned. My Myspace friend Chris Hansen urged me to terminate our relationship... or at least kick you off of the computer. I should have listened to him, but I decided to give you the benefit of the doubt. After all, we were friends....weren't we?
But then, you had to go and ruin things. I understand now that your intentions were never honorable. You spent all those hours in my apartment only to lure me into a false sense of security. I felt hurt. I felt betrayed. I trusted you, and you abused my trust. I woke up at three-thirty this morning, and I think you know what happened next. No longer beside my computer, you were sitting in the chair by my bed, staring at me. Whoa, whoa, whoa! What were you thinking?
Clearly, this relationship was not headed in the right direction. But even now, I can't help but feel that I was too generous with you. I could have called the police when I first saw you there on the loveseat with the baseball bat. But no! So, for the sake of our past friendship, for the good times that we had together over the previous nine hours, I gave you the benefit of the doubt one last time.
Finding a post-it note, I carefully fashioned it into a sort of "heart shape," and devised a plan in which I would lovingly write you a note asking you to leave my apartment. I needed you to understand that i was not just doing this for me. It was best for both of us—the best possible end to a relationship gone sour. However, as I tried to formulate my thoughts onto paper, you lashed out against me, doing the one thing that you knew—you knew—I was not okay with. You jumped onto the bed. Your thoughtless actions in that moment, your split-second decision, completely ruined any chance we had at salvaging our relationship.
I can tolerate men in many places, but my bedsheets are not one of them. In a word, unforgivable. I am sorry, man. We had a fun run. I put up with you for a while, but you pushed things too far. I let you do what you wanted, go where you wanted...and you abused that relationship. I need boundaries, guy. I need borders. I need you not in my freaking bed. I made you leave immediately, and I'm sorry. Although even after you had gone, I sat in bed for two hours, unable to fall asleep. Every time I closed my eyes, I felt like there were people watching me. I'm now afraid of you, irrationally afraid, and no healthy relationship can be based on fear.
Things are over between us. They have to be. I didn't want to have to do this, but you leave me no choice. I'm truly sorry, but please don't ever visit me again.
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