Five years ago, if we had an agreed upon time to meet and you showed up late, I would have (1) left within fifteen minutes, and (2) not spoken to you until you learned how rude and disrespectful it was to waste my time. It was my way of saying that I don’t tolerate tardiness. [Although, back in 2003, I was ditched after waiting for hours after class for Daniel because we were supposed to take the subway home together. I wasn't mad then, or now. Ahh, what we do for love.]
I’ve lightened up somewhat since then. I’ve learned that there may exist good reasons to be late, or not show up at all. I still get ridiculously angry while I’m waiting, but I have learned to not hold long-term grudges for it. Well, I won’t when there’s a genuinely good reason for wasting my time. If not, then in my mind I just label you as “disrespectful, and irresponsible”. There’s nothing wrong with that. That’s just the case.
I suppose I understand how scary it was/is to tell me the truth. But I so greatly respect the person who makes me feel guilty for how unfair I’m being than the baby who is afraid to.
Some days, like today, I wonder if it’s just a general human condition to be irresponsible. Other days I feel like it’s my masochism, retaining the company that I do.
