First, you have an interaction with someone. There's the surface of the conversation, and there's also a cave underneath, a secret bit of excavation that isn't done quite deliberately. Nevertheless, after the interchange--and mind you the interchange itself is likewise prosaic, as ordinary as it comes--you let yourself slip into this cave, put on a different prescription, and you re-evaluate the very same words, often multiple times and in exceeding permuations based on the cusp of tone that your memory isn't totally solid about, though it begins to grow into a damning certainty over the course of several minutes or hours, until you've found yourself totally flattened, submerged, and unable to breathe. You find yourself isolated. The conversation was a perfect conclusion to a perfectly meaningless life.
At this point there are two ways to go.
1) Doubt your submerged self's instincts and force a rosy picture onto the situation (or at least a neutral view)
2) Allow the doubts to take root and grow fast and strong, and let them burst them damning restraints of the cave that you've dug yourself in glorious fireworks of indignation, anger, and wrath. Hold a grudge against this person, and know who "they" are deep down.
I think when we choose option (2) we do a great disservice to our relationships. Of course option (1) is a bit damning as well. Niether are ideal. Both happen I think more than the middle road of balance. Option (1) is harder to spot.
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