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Act I: The Invitation

What was I thinking?

I met L about a year ago—she was a friend of an acquaintance. We had a few things in common, and at first, our interactions were light and casual. But before I knew it, she was inviting me to her birthday dinner—a gathering I probably should have found a way to avoid. That first birthday dinner was a glimpse into the kind of chaos she welcomes with open arms. Not long after, she began dropping in on me uninvited and staying for long hours even after I made it clear I wanted to be alone, as if we were already close friends.

In other words: zero sense of boundaries.

This person invites drama into her life the way others collect books, hobbies, or stray cats. Chaos isn’t something that happens to her; it’s something she actively cultivates. And that first birthday dinner? It told me everything I needed to know about her approach to life.

At some point, she did me a favour—one that made me feel like I owed her, even when I probably didn’t.

Then, two days before Christmas this year, she decided to invite herself and her teenage son over for Christmas Day.

I said: “I’m not in a good place right now, I’m mourning my father, as you well know. I don’t feel like celebrating, I’d rather be alone. Maybe we can see each other another time.”

She insisted: “I’ll bring the food, you won’t have to lift a finger, and my son really wants to see you.”

How do you turn down an invitation like that without seeming heartless? So I reluctantly said “maybe.”

As it turned out, I had a horrible migraine on Christmas Day and so… saved by the migraine—so to speak—I told her I simply could not have visitors.

End Act I.

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Act II: The Dinner

A lovely meal… ruined by sheer audacity.

I’d been wondering since that moment when she attempted to impose herself and her teenage son on me over the holidays how I could possibly put an end to this so-called relationship without hurting her feelings. After all, she is not a bad person—only terribly ill-advised. I had no easy solution.

Then, for reasons I could’t explain to myself, I decided to invite her over for a homemade dinner tonight.

She asked me what time she should come over and if she should bring wine. I said 6:30 would be perfect and that wine gives me headaches lately, so I’d prefer she bring dessert instead.

She contacted me around 6:15 to say she’d be 15 minutes late. Fine, no problem. I started slowly preparing the ingredients for dinner, as I was getting hungry.

She showed up at 6:55.

With a tempting dessert.

And a bottle of wine.

The food was delicious. She made no comment on it. Instead, she talked about herself and other people in her life—all while saying she wasn’t happy talking about these things.

So I started talking about myself.

She ignored me.

She did ask me: “Do I recall correctly that you went to France for a second time last year to visit your mother?”

I said: “Yes, you know I did. I went for a whole month, and I took all those wonderful pictures.”

“Oh yes,” she said, “you posted them on Facebook; there were far too many of them.”

I said: “Surely you did NOT just say that.”

She insisted that yes, there were simply too many pictures and she didn’t have the patience to look through them all.

She explained to me that she was currently hypomanic: “My psychiatrist suggested I lower my antidepressant dosage, but I don’t want to. I enjoy being hypomanic, even though it does cause me some problems, but I enjoy being in a good mood.”

I said: “Yes, being in a good mood is wonderful, but the crash isn’t worth it—never mind all the trouble you tend to get into.”

She insisted it was better to be hypomanic than not.

End Act II.

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Act III: The Photo Album

Where it all went up in flames.

When we finished our food, I offered her coffee.

Then remembered—coffee makes her lose her mind.

Any stimulant at all makes her start acting like a small child.

She thought it was funny that I took back the offer of coffee.

I said: “I simply don’t enjoy when you start acting out.”

She thought that was funny as well. She enjoys being unreasonable, she said. Or words to that effect.

I said nothing. Just thought: we’ll have dessert, and then I’ll tell her I want to get back to my writing and call it a night.

As I was making coffee for myself, she started leafing through a photo album of mine.

She said: “Is this the photo album you got from your father after he passed?”

I said: “Yes, the very same one.”

She continued flipping through the photos, then came to one of my grandmother Sima and I.

She said: “My God, she looks tired of living.”

I was in the kitchen and the coffee machine was percolating.

I said: “Did I just hear you say what I think you said?”

She said: “I probably should’t repeat that.”

I said: “No, indeed, that is not something you should have said. You do realize that’s my grandmother you’re talking about? That she somehow managed to escape the Holocaust? That half her family actually perished in the death camps, don’t you?”

She said: “I think I’d better leave now.”

“Yes, I think you should,” I said.

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Finale

Exit, stage left, slamming the door and pursued by consequences

Then, as she was getting ready to leave and I was busying myself in the kitchen I said to myself, out loud:

“I cannot FUCKING believe she actually said that.”

I’d assumed she’d already gone.

She had not.

When I realised she was still getting dressed, I said:

“Take your dessert with you. I don’t want it anymore.”

She said: “Can I have my bottle of wine back?”

I said: “Oh, you most definitely can.”

And handed it back to her.

Did not even have to tell her not to let the door hit her on the way out.

She slammed the door behind her instead, with a quick “I’m sorry.”

So I opened it and said: “That was not necessary.”

After all, she’d already made her permanent exit a foregone conclusion.

The End.

All’s Well That Ends Well. ☠️

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• A Christmas gift to myself
• A few of the drawings I destroyed this year
• THE AKATHISIA FILES: PT 5
• THE AKATHISIA FILES: PT 4
• “I like rocks.”