So today, Morgan sent me a text message at 21:21

“I’m done playing the games and shit I’m deleding your numbers please don’t call me any more”

I guess that’s because I had to go get my medicine from HEB, and come home to find that I’ve been locked out of the house. Yeah man, your problems sure are my fault aren’t they?

What are these games that I’m supposedly playing or whatever you’re going on about? I’ve done nothing but bent over fucking backwards for you. You needed something and I had it to spare? You got it at no cost. You were hungry and needed a place to crash for two days a couple times? I fed you and gave you a place to sleep. You needed to get somewhere? I facilitated a ride. You needed something fixed? I fixed it.

I took better care of you than your own fucking mother. And you got the nuts to blame your problems on me? Blame me for you being hungry? Blame me for you not having something? How fucking dare you. When you lived on primrose, and your mother was off doing whatever it was, when she should have been taking care of you, you called me or Chris. Chris moved, and you had me. What did I do? I did what I could to help you without disrupting my situation.

You leave the roach infested house that your mother lived in, and move in with your brother. You were over here just about every other weekend, eating my food, sleeping on my futon. Did I mind? No, it gave you a place to get something to eat and a place to get away from your brother–whom at the time you told me was a rabid asshole. You lived in a shed, exposed to the weather. I did what I could to help you out.

You moved in with Greg. You called me to come get you so you could crash over here, and get out of Another shed, wanting me to feed you and give you a place to crash. What did I do? I fed you and gave you a place to crash.

You move into an apartment with Kelly, and you don’t call me for a few days, then your laptop starts acting funny and you need someone with some thermal paste to re-goo the heatsinks in it. Then instead of staying over, you want to be taken home, so home you go. You catch me on MSN and tell me some story about your mom needing your help on something, then you ask me if you can come back over. Sean was busy with some stuff, and I wasn’t feeling to well, so I told you that I didn’t care if you came back over, but I had to go get my medication. Since I had to go on foot, you asked if you could meet me up there. I said you could do what you wanted to do, because I still didn’t feel to well. Sean comes by as I’m in the bathroom, then we go to the place

A half hour later I get the text message. Why? I don’t know. I’m sitting at Sean’s place while watching an episode of Mythbusters on his DVR, after I find out my medication isn’t ready yet. So I’m a little irate but that’s fine. You’ve blown up on me before, so I’m going to let you calm down some. But you do need to know this. I’m done with you.

You wanna blame me for your fucking problems? Kill yourself. I ain’t got time for you anymore. Two fucking years I been babysitting you. Doing your mother’s fucking job. If you had any goddammed nuts you’d have a fucking job and be taking care of yourself and not burden your friends with your problems. You’d stop lashing out at people trying to help you when they can’t do something right when you want it. You’d stop telling me to harass your ex-friends because they don’t do what you want.