There is probably nothing that could excuse my abhorrent behavior. I don't know what lapse of brain function I had to do what I did but, to be quite frank, I was an asshole. My friends have every right to berate and admonish me. I deserve it. I confined myself from them and, damn it all, they actually missed me. It seems like a decade ago since anyone I wasn't related to cared for me like that. I thought that they wouldn't even notice, and if they did it would be ephemeral. I guess I was gullible? Dare I say I might have been ebullient if they had stayed away? Or maybe I would have been satisfied that they noticed, maybe their attention is like ambrosia, food fit for the gods themselves? I don't know why I immersed myself in my studies. Could I not have at least haggled some spare moment from Father Time to spend with them? Maybe insomnia is getting to me, though recently I have been sleeping well. I still have a certain ambivalence when it comes to admitting why I really ditched them for about a month. Hell, they even noticed at the sleep overs that I hadn't been acting myself. However my reticence to admit my problem only impeds myself to ameliration.
It was my folly in the first place to ignore them and try to pretend like I wasn't upset, or that I was in perfect harmony with them, just refusing to spend time with them. Formerly I think I could and would have told them anything and everything. I would have done it to conserve what I had; my life. But that just seems like a former thing. What is this detriment called "life"? All I know is that, this year, I couldn't afford to have it. It was exotic, yet, at the same time, it meant I was too. I used to have one and I cherished it. Well, when it was intact anyway.