I finally get a call from him: he's watching wrestling tonight, so I'll have to wait until Wednesday. "How often does it come on anyway?" was the first thing he says when I answer the phone. I guess I go over there too often just for a TV show.

I keep imagining this drama that unfolds, where he'll confront me about using his satellite tv too often, then I'll say "Well, you could just say no, you know!" He'd get annoyed and say, "Are you using me?" to which I'd say, "Well, I did worry that maybe I was, but really, we don't hang out with each other". He'd hit me with, "Well, you could've brought me along with your friends on Saturday. What's the matter? Are you ashamed of something?" I'd feel a weigh in me as I reveal, "Well, I'm older than you, yet I've accomplished very little, and I feel like you look down on me. I already feel like a sponge living under mom and dad's roof, and here I am sponging from your satellite for a lesbian show. I don't know what you really think of it. For all I know, you're holding back your disgust for fear of hurting my feelings. If I were really using you, I'd invite my friends over to watch your show without your permission or exploit you more, blackmail you about your free satellite, but I'd never do that to you." Sappy music would swell over the scene and we'd both be crying as we embrace each other, apologizing about stupid things in the past, and the whole scenario would be a crappy version of The Fresh Prince of Bel-Air.

After I hung up the phone, my paranoid mind still created thoughts: Did he feel guilty when I said it was okay that I couldn't come over? I mean, it is his TV. I'm not going to make a huge deal just because he has his programs to watch.