Am I wrong? Tell me if I'm wrong
You dispute the incurred debt of 1200? You had rolling missed payments, and seem to think you were less delinquent than you were. I can provide bank statements that show how much we got from you when you were paying and when those payments became infrequent, insufficient, and stopped. It would have been easier to pull up that data years ago, but I will honor a request for documentation.
I've recorded your occasional payments over the years and have rounded down to 900 because I'm weary of this debt and anxious for it to be over, and will not seek interest or payment for the handful of damages that resulted from your carelessness or recklessness.
I'm sorry you feel that paying your debt to me is a favor. It is not.
After all the yelling... finally ending in yelling at me for having the gall to accept what sounded like an apology (maybe it was the mere suggestion of a payment plan that set you off, but I would have accepted any terms, and still would - if you could have just spared 25 dollars a month, you would be nearly paid off by now, the debt probably forgotten - if you would have offered even just 5, I would at least have felt that you intentions were honorable, but instead you claimed total destitution and reminded us that your mother had died) cornered in Kat's old apartment on that occasion when you jumped into a pile of cardboard... after the years of you choosing to buy games, a PS3, a PSP, etc instead of paying me back, you must forgive me for not feeling sorry for you and your hard luck.
Though we can be civil, we have not been friends since I became convinced that you felt that friendship was not worth more than winning an argument and that friendship was most valuable as a tool - benignly as a ticket to companionship and good times, or, when it suited you, as a shield from the need to respect privacy, ownership, or responsibility.
If you would like me to share with others a different opinion of you, you only have to convince me with your actions. Working up to "dead to me" will get you my silence, and I'll only say, wistfully, "oh, we have history, but it's all in the past now - we don't really know eachother anymore" when I'm pressed for my opinion of you.
If you would have liked to have been invited to the wedding, or if you'd like to be invited to future events, you would have to 1) apologize, 2) pay me back or at least make a sincere effort instead of sheepishly handing over whatever bills are in your pocket whenever I happen to be around and you're high, and 3) politely agree to disagree instead of getting into arguments over any minutia imaginable - while you were my room mate, you yelled at me more than Reese and the Navy combined, in un-winnable arguments where even admitting that I was wrong was not an option. This prompted me to hide in my own room when I failed to leave the house before you woke up, curled up in a mound of blankets or laying between the closet and the bed for that inevitable moment when you would open my door to see if I was there. I would wait, quietly getting dressed under the cover of your endless music, and ninja to the door when you were in the bathroom, dozing in your chair, or whatever, claiming to have just gotten home if noticed, which you occasionally did.
Even when at the extreme end of your rent delinquency, no statement of opinion was tame enough to avoid eliciting a fight. No night was late enough for you to turn down your bass (a frequency range I suspect you have become deaf to) or not drunkenly sprint to the bathroom. You took our regular request to turn down the music as illogical, the plea that it keeps us up and was even loud enough to be uncomfortable, as an arguable point even when you were months behind rent and were completely at our mercy - and though you would turn it down, you would wait until you assumed we were asleep and turn it back up.
I am mad because I defended and lobbied for you despite everything, making me look like a battered housewife until I had no choice but to cut my losses. I payed your share of the rent, and when you left you got a job, bought a PS3, and left me wondering where some things had gone - things I admittedly didn't use enough to be sure if I had simply lost them, but given that you would take something if you decided it wasn't being used enough, the suspicion came easily.
I don't really care if you are content to leave our relationship at the level of Facebook friends at most. But given all that we have shared, the contrast between now and almost a decade ago is painful to me. Maybe it's the dramatic contrast that keeps this issue fresh on my mind. If you care to know, it feels like a betrayal. When you tell my stepsister that you've been saving and would consider moving to the UK or when I hear that you've just bought some new thing or when you mention anything tangentially related to money, it feels like a spitball to the back of my head from someone who used to be my best friend.
Summary: A debt is a matter of honor (a quality I suspect you only have when it can be loudly displayed if you would suggest that being nice to you is a prerequisite to paying me back). You owe me $900, down from your initial $1200, which you never before contested, and repayment (especially when you can set the terms) should not be contingent on anything but your character. If I hear about you spending, talking about, or complaining about money, then expect a remark - if you don't hear it, I'm either saving it for later or venting to anyone nearby. You can change this situation, or you can leave it as is, it's up to you - you'll get no sympathy from me about your hard luck. I will not relent, as my sadness is surpassed only by my anger.
I've recorded your occasional payments over the years and have rounded down to 900 because I'm weary of this debt and anxious for it to be over, and will not seek interest or payment for the handful of damages that resulted from your carelessness or recklessness.
I'm sorry you feel that paying your debt to me is a favor. It is not.
After all the yelling... finally ending in yelling at me for having the gall to accept what sounded like an apology (maybe it was the mere suggestion of a payment plan that set you off, but I would have accepted any terms, and still would - if you could have just spared 25 dollars a month, you would be nearly paid off by now, the debt probably forgotten - if you would have offered even just 5, I would at least have felt that you intentions were honorable, but instead you claimed total destitution and reminded us that your mother had died) cornered in Kat's old apartment on that occasion when you jumped into a pile of cardboard... after the years of you choosing to buy games, a PS3, a PSP, etc instead of paying me back, you must forgive me for not feeling sorry for you and your hard luck.
Though we can be civil, we have not been friends since I became convinced that you felt that friendship was not worth more than winning an argument and that friendship was most valuable as a tool - benignly as a ticket to companionship and good times, or, when it suited you, as a shield from the need to respect privacy, ownership, or responsibility.
If you would like me to share with others a different opinion of you, you only have to convince me with your actions. Working up to "dead to me" will get you my silence, and I'll only say, wistfully, "oh, we have history, but it's all in the past now - we don't really know eachother anymore" when I'm pressed for my opinion of you.
If you would have liked to have been invited to the wedding, or if you'd like to be invited to future events, you would have to 1) apologize, 2) pay me back or at least make a sincere effort instead of sheepishly handing over whatever bills are in your pocket whenever I happen to be around and you're high, and 3) politely agree to disagree instead of getting into arguments over any minutia imaginable - while you were my room mate, you yelled at me more than Reese and the Navy combined, in un-winnable arguments where even admitting that I was wrong was not an option. This prompted me to hide in my own room when I failed to leave the house before you woke up, curled up in a mound of blankets or laying between the closet and the bed for that inevitable moment when you would open my door to see if I was there. I would wait, quietly getting dressed under the cover of your endless music, and ninja to the door when you were in the bathroom, dozing in your chair, or whatever, claiming to have just gotten home if noticed, which you occasionally did.
Even when at the extreme end of your rent delinquency, no statement of opinion was tame enough to avoid eliciting a fight. No night was late enough for you to turn down your bass (a frequency range I suspect you have become deaf to) or not drunkenly sprint to the bathroom. You took our regular request to turn down the music as illogical, the plea that it keeps us up and was even loud enough to be uncomfortable, as an arguable point even when you were months behind rent and were completely at our mercy - and though you would turn it down, you would wait until you assumed we were asleep and turn it back up.
I am mad because I defended and lobbied for you despite everything, making me look like a battered housewife until I had no choice but to cut my losses. I payed your share of the rent, and when you left you got a job, bought a PS3, and left me wondering where some things had gone - things I admittedly didn't use enough to be sure if I had simply lost them, but given that you would take something if you decided it wasn't being used enough, the suspicion came easily.
I don't really care if you are content to leave our relationship at the level of Facebook friends at most. But given all that we have shared, the contrast between now and almost a decade ago is painful to me. Maybe it's the dramatic contrast that keeps this issue fresh on my mind. If you care to know, it feels like a betrayal. When you tell my stepsister that you've been saving and would consider moving to the UK or when I hear that you've just bought some new thing or when you mention anything tangentially related to money, it feels like a spitball to the back of my head from someone who used to be my best friend.
Summary: A debt is a matter of honor (a quality I suspect you only have when it can be loudly displayed if you would suggest that being nice to you is a prerequisite to paying me back). You owe me $900, down from your initial $1200, which you never before contested, and repayment (especially when you can set the terms) should not be contingent on anything but your character. If I hear about you spending, talking about, or complaining about money, then expect a remark - if you don't hear it, I'm either saving it for later or venting to anyone nearby. You can change this situation, or you can leave it as is, it's up to you - you'll get no sympathy from me about your hard luck. I will not relent, as my sadness is surpassed only by my anger.