Everytime I put a bag of soil into a customer's car I secretly hope that we'll open the trunk to find a dismembered hooker they forgot about.

Everything I hate about myself is because of you. My weight, my affect, how much I drink, how much I smoke, the way I deal with people and situations, is all your fault. I've developed such as strong intense hatred for you and all that reminds me of you. That said, what you've done for me won't be forgotten, but what you haven't done is what holds the most memories. I dream of you and I think about you more than I should, you've gotten under my skin proverbially and litterally, and there's nothing I can do to get you out. I'm stuck with you wherever I go.
We were happy. You had your team, I had mine. And now that we're ahead in the 9th, you want a do-over. You can't do that, you can't play for both sides in a rivalry, you can't be both home and away teams. You had your time to do what was right. Realizing you made the wrong choice and having the guts to try and fix it is something I admire, but there's a time and a place for everything, and yours is long since passed.
And now you want me to come and meet the family, real domestic like, sit down to a nice meal, and chit chat like the past five years were nothing. A meal? Thanks, everything's fine. You want to do something for me? Teach me how to throw a curveball. Teach me how to shave. Tell me how to meet girls, How about the birthday and Christmas cards I've never fucking recieved?! How about a simple "I heard i) your mother needs a liver transplant, if there's anything I can do, I'm here. ii) You lost the top floor of your house, let me help you somehow. iii) I heard you were in the hospital, are you ok? et cetera." Instead you trivialize my self destructive moments, you try to make feel ashamed for my misfortunes instead of supporting andcomforting me as someone in your position should.
But you know, a pan of lasagna should cover it.