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I was thinking tonight about how, when you've been friends with someone for years, you pretty much have them worked out. You know what makes them tick, you know the way they react when people treat them a certain way, and you somehow assume that, because you're one of their best friends, you're an exception. That they'd be more tolerant, more understanding because you expect them to know you that well. You expect your friendship to withstand any trials and shortcomings that may come about.

The thing is, maybe there's a line. There's a limit. You can't keep throwing stuff into a plastic bag. One day, the plastic bag will break. It's sad. It's sad when you feel you're the object of pent up frustration because it seems you rarely help lighten the load. You know them. You know that you're hurting them. They say they understand, but you know that they wish things could be different.

I'm sorry. I really am.