I woke up in my bedroom and proceeded to get ready for class. I opened my door and found some notes taped to it. They were from Chris, and they were written on the same colored notepaper he'd used to write me love notes in August. I flipped through the notes to read what he had written to me. One note said: "Well, now I know how I'm going to spend all my free time. Tom and Jim taught me how to smoke marijuana last night." And it went on from there. Apparently he really loved smoking weed ... and he loved it so much that he'd decided to try smoking crack as well. And he liked that too. He said he knew I'd be mad at him for doing this, but there wasn't anything I could do about it. He was going to continue being a druggie, and he couldn't believe that he had spent so many years of his life NOT using drugs.
A few moments later, Chris came to visit me. I told him that, yes, I was mad at him for becoming a druggie because it was very irresponsible of him and I didn't want him to endanger his health. Chris
acted like I had no idea what I was talking about. He said I was really missing out on something fun, but he knew I'd never try it.
"I was high for five thousand minutes the other day!" Chris told me proudly.
I was still really mad, but Chris and I decided to go out for a while. On the porch of my apartment, a guy was smoking crack. "He's doing it wrong," Chris said. I said, "You've only done it ONCE! How would you know if he's doing it right or wrong?" Once again, Chris regarded me as if I had no clue and was never going to fully experience the joys of life because of my non-druggie ways.
Finally, I got sick of how he was treating me. I went back inside, ran to my room and started crying and throwing things all over the room while shouting, "I hate my life!" over and over. Chris said, "I don't have to listen to this," and he went in the kitchen and sat down at the table and started reading the paper.
