Back in the day, when I was around 20 years old or so, I made the huge mistake of dating an angsty emo boy. Everything was tragic, man. He dyed his hair black and could not see anything pleasant about anything. He liked my poetry. I liked his music. We were miserable together. I should have known that it would end up in the toilet.
Seriously, John and I had a decent time. We had some friends in common and generally got along. I can't remember a great deal about the relationship; I was 20 (I think). I was also on the rebound after a heartbreak. I don't remember the details.
What I DO remember is calling him every day for a week and developing a relationship with his answering machine.
"Hey John, it's me. Thought I'd see how you're doing today..."
"Hey John, such-and-such band is playing at the 8th Note tonight. I'm thinking of going. Maybe I'll see you there?"
"Hey John, haven't heard from you...what's new? Call me."
You get the picture.
And on the seventh day I hear his answering machine:
"Hi, you've reached my answering machine and I'm sorry I can't take your call. Please leave a message after the tone....except if you're a crazy bitch named Tessa- don't leave a message and fuck off." Or some such. I might be embellishing a bit but that's pretty much how I felt after I heard that.
I was appalled. So not only did he leave that message for me to hear but everyone who called him would get that message.
Will someone please explain to me how difficult it is to pick up the phone and say "hey, you know, I'm really sorry...I had fun but I just don't feel it anymore. I'm sorry and I really hope you meet someone that compliments you better than I."
You know, sometimes it doesn't work. Doesn't mean you have to turn into a giant asshole.
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