...

How do you ruin a great day in which you bought cd's and a new trackball mouse because you wanted to even though you probably shouldn't have spent the money, had a great performance of the show, and followed it up with a great cast party?

By getting home and finding a message that someone you've considered a very dear friend is using meth.

I think I'm a pretty tolerant guy. You all can toke up your greens, although God alone knows why on earth you would WANT to, and I'll let you go about your life and make your choices no matter how much they may disgust me. But I'm sorry. You touch that meth poison and you're a gravestone in my eyes. There is no excuse. There is NEVER an excuse. You choose to lie down in a grave, you wake up covered in dirt. It's as simple as that.

I want my friend back. And he's probably never coming back. Because that's what meth does. Stronger people than him have died in its clutches, and he's not strong right now.

You know who you are. If you ever read this, I promise to say something nice at your funeral. Because people deserve to know that you were something other than some pathetic druggie who pissed his whole life away. That is all. And pray to your goddess I NEVER find out who your dealer is.