There is only one explanation, and This. Explains. Everything.

A play in three acts

characters:
Me - playing myself
Other People Bothering Me (OPBM)- played by themselves

Act One
Set in my small, windowless office, morning.
OPBM (walking in, interrupting an ipod-induced reverie): Can you get me an inventory of the items we discussed yesterday?
Me: I can't. It's Friday.

Act Two
Set on the patio outside the office building, midmorning.
OPBM (interrupting an intense navel-gazing exercise): Can you buy me a cheeseburger today?
Me: I can't. It's Friday.

Act Three
Set in the lobby. Midafternoon.
Me: (walks by OPBM while yawning)
OPBM: Stop yawning!
Me: I can't. It's Friday.

Scene.

An open letter to J, who is unlikely to respond

The bruises from your dog have risen, and are fading. The ache our fight left in me has lessened to a souring in my stomach and for that, I am relieved. We haven’t talked in days, and it’s possible we won’t. If we could, I would tell you that I make mistakes all the time, this is not new to me. The nicest thing about being In The Wrong is that The Wrong is a crowded place; you’re bound to run into someone you know there. I have the capacity to forgive, in fact have forgiven you, and I wish most right now that you could do the same.

This life, and where I’ve chosen to live it out, has turned me into someone I hardly recognize. Where I used to be open and warm I’ve become skeptical, hard, and cynical. This is not something I prefer, but something I need to survive here. It’s possible your motives were pure, and that you never intended to hurt me in the only place I cannot protect. It is possible. It is possible that you are genuine, but in the room your silence creates, I can’t put much faith in it.

We are soured by the sour forces around us; it would take a stronger person than I to resist that. I am trying. I am growing older, and I am growing. This will be gotten beyond, one way or another. But at the present, my greatest wish is just that this could be said, not catalogued, that you would hear. Short of that, I am speaking alone in a quiet room, to an audience of none.