Fucked up

I went from worried sick to over it.

The Bartender and I planned to hang out on Monday night, Monday night came, I didn't hear from him. I made other plans. Until. Until he told me he got fired. The raging alcoholic got fired from his longtime bartending job. What will he do?

I felt terrible.

I said what you say when someone you cares about loses his job.

Then I texted him the next day, checking in.

Truthfully, dear fictitious readers, I want my damn paints. I got offered a painting a job and I need my paints. Fine. Fine, I want to open Pandora's box of The Bartender, The Raging Alcoholic, but mostly, also, by the way, I want my damn paints! 

I texted him at six at night and said, "What are you doing?" and he said, "I'm ducked up," which I'm assuming he was just too fucked up to realize that what he meant was fucked up.

And then I got so mad. So mad that he is doing this. So mad that he will kill himself soon. So mad that he can't stop being sick. So mad that over two years later and he still wouldn't choose me over his addictions.

I told him not to ruin his life. That I would know. That I could reliably say that it's not worth ruining, that he is someone special. And that I didn't want to talk to him until he wasn't so fucked up.