Why do I bother keeping up appearances? It is possibly because I do not want to admit that I made a mistake in the judgment of his character. Or maybe that I lied to myself about his character. Or maybe it always reflects badly on me because somehow it always ends up to be my tantrums or my paranoia, or my mood-swings that cause the problem. I believe this is true in some cases, but sometimes, privately I think that because it is true some of the time, it makes it easier for him to become the aggrieved party even when it is his fault.

And sometimes it is blatantly his fault. He blames others for his mistakes. When we lose a game, it is always my fault. When we are late, it is always my fault. When someone else thinks that something has gone wrong in etc, etc, etc, it is my fault even though I was never involved in it.

He explains all this assigned blame away airily, with the excuse that he is preparing me for the real world out there. As if he is more experienced in it than I am. Or with the excuse that it was just made in jest. But all the time? Even when I told him time and again not to do it, even for a lark, because I tend to blame myself for real after once too many times?

The whole "on-off" friendship thing is so old until it is no longer even remotely amusing. It just hurts a lot and I am so sick and tired of entrusting him with a large part of my life and having him slap me in the face with some unsympathetic comment. Or perhaps the highly refined sarcasm and whiny petty little male chauvanistic actions he delights in and cause my already fragile self-esteem to shatter?

Oh, and don't forget broken promises, stupid incidents like the one recounted here, and the occasional other that I never bothered to record down and now I wish I did, so that I can go, "I told you so" or "I warned you" to myself. Which is why I am writing this down, so that I can go, "Warning!!!" at some later point in time.

I feel manipulated and used. Sometimes I kick myself mentally for sitting down and chatting to the poor betrodden looking fellow in the courtyard so long ago. I kick myself for feeling sorry for the poor woebegone look on his face and so listened to his woes and became his friend. I kick myself for offering friendship and comfort when he needed someone, (like when he quarrelled with his companion recently), only to find that most of his reciprocated efforts had ulterior motives of some sort. If he did wish to help at all.

And no one wants to feel that way.

Yes, I am rather unhappy at myself for being so petty, but after his birthday, I will wash my hands completely of him. I went shopping with Mage today to get his present and spent more than I anticipated, (I will be living on instant noodles and milk-less tea for a fortnight), but I suppose that since I am no longer giving him something hand-made, cold hard cash will fulfill all my obligations. Obligations? A harsh word perhaps, but one that suits my cold, calculating, mood right now. At least the mood spares me from breaking down into tears.

And at least I spared more thought and effort into choosing his present than he gave to mine. Which hurt because I rather have a person not give me anything and wish me well sincerely, than just get a generic gift with no thought put into it. And this is a close friend as well. Or one that professes to be a close one.

One may argue that I am an ungrateful brat, and part of me agrees. I was brought up to appreciate a gift no matter how much one dislikes it, and smile even if it was inappropriate. For example, beer, even if I am underaged. A present is a present and one should appreciate the thought put into a gift and be grateful. So this calculation makes me uneasy.

I was grateful, on the outside, but inside, I was terribly hurt because he told me he gave his girlfriend the money and she paid for it. Nice of him to remember me on my birthday didn't he? Panther sent me a card, but at least I know he picked it with me in mind. I still wear that pair of ugly earrings Panther gave me for my eighteenth birthday, at least when I meet him for lunch. Everyone else I know thinks they are tacky, but I wear them because he picked them and I appreciate it.

Paladin did see that quick flash of distaste on my face when I saw the present and heard his little anecdote. I had to tell a white lie and said it was because Marshmallow Man bought me the exact same present a year ago.

Now I made myself all exhausted with bitching about Paladin. I will start on the ten questions tomorrow, or later today as the case is.

Oh and in case you are curious, we bought Paladin a book from one of his favourite authors, (I remembered his enthusiasm outside the shop window for that book), a mascot, which is in the shape of his favourite animal and a card.

Maybe guys are bad gift-givers. I don't know. Capt says the only real thing that Paladin is guilty of is insensitivity. Anything else can be attributed to my paranoia and mood-swings. I don't think so. Every instinct in me screams "user" like Ex-BF 1 and his manipulative, butter won't melt in my mouth ways.

Maybe I am just a petty, spoilt brat, who doesn't wish to share or play fair or be nice or just wants everything to go according to her rules. Yes, that has the ring of truth to it. I hate myself.

But it is not fair that when I get mad at someone I internalise it and internalise it until it becomes my fault.

That isn't healthy I should think.