I walked into the apartment. There was Tucker, asleep on the couch. He had started a beer and left it on the end table – without a coaster! All I could think of was ‘That sorry SOB – he doesn’t care enough about what I think is important to even get a napkins let alone use the damn coasters on the coffee table RIGHT IN FRONT OF HIM!’ I went into the kitchen, slammed my books down on the table and sat there, looking around. His lunch dishes were in the sink. The more I thought about my situation, the more depressed I became. I felt my depression turning to anger. ‘Just who the hell does he think he is? He can’t treat me this way!’ I thought to myself (while another part was whispering ‘Kattie, what the HELL are you doing?’), getting out of the chair and storming into the living room. Tucker was still sleeping on the couch, his beer dripping water on my table. I started ranting from the kitchen doorway, and (I must admit) was totally out of control by the time I got into the living. ’ Yes, I knew how it was, and could prophesy how it was likely to be in the future. I suppose a major factor in these situations is our pride. Falling in love is to open oneself to the other person in such a way as to be hopelessly vulnerable. To be in love is to be exposed to the other person, to tell our deep secrets, to make our confessions along with our avowals of love and fidelity, and also to rejoice in the hopes for the future. Along with this is the pain and anguish when separated from the beloved one. The constant glad thoughts of the other’s presence in one’s life, and the guiltless rejoicing in the act of love making. I had loved and been betrayed. In a few seconds, my little world came crashing down, and I began that most dangerous and futile of all emotions, to hate. After my day of grief stricken self-pity, I returned to work, a depressed and heartbroken wreck, pale and unshaven. I began not eating properly and my concentration failed me, a dangerous fault in an.
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