You’re never there when I expect you.
You march up obnoxiously early.
You saunter in unfashionably late.
You don’t deign to come at all.
You make me anxious when you don’t visit.
You make me uncomfortable when you’re around.
You torment me till my stomach’s in knots.
You make me hate you (but not enough to wish you were gone).
You upset me.
You irritate me.
You hurt me.
You manipulate me.
You confuse me.
You anger me.
Why do I call you my friend, again?