I wish I were perfect too.

I don't know what's going on, but I hope you're happy that you can still make me cry with one well-aimed comment. I hope that that accomplished the goals of venting your frustration, of making you feel a little goddamned better for having poured spite out upon the world. I hope it helped. Because I wanted to talk to you and tell you aboutmy weekend, I wanted to share all the things that were fun and interesting about it. I wanted to talk to my friend. I'm beginning to wonder if I ever can again, because you seem to think it's all frivolous. That anything that doesn't suit your standards of benig worthwhile deserves to be brushed aside with a cynical comment and a 'grow up'. That fun is something you no longer want anyone to have, unless it meets your particular requirements. I'm beginning to wonder. I'm almost afraid to talk to you; I don't know how you'll respond to anything that isn't serious enough, or grown-up enough. I'm almost afraid to relax and have fun around one of the only people I've never had to be guarded against. And it hurts. What's wrong? How can you be so wounded and so strange, so changed from the person I've always believed I knew? I don't understand, and I don't know what to do, how to help, whether to give more or give up. What do I do?