.....

Heard from her twice this week.  The boy tried to call her three different times and she never answered.  She called back a few minutes afte the third time and got me, since he was off to school.  I had left her a voicemail the prior morning after the second unanswered call and left her a message.  I told her she had two weeks to give me an answer or her stuff was going into storage.  I was upset, but not angry.  I didn't cuss-surprise!- and was civil.  But it evidently made an impact.  When I spoke to her, she said she wrote me a letter.  A fucking letter?  Passive aggressive manifesto is probably more like it.  I just said fine and hung up.  So now I'm waiting on the damn letter.  It didn't come today.  She sent me a text a few minutes later and said she was not going to "subject herself to my "tone".  I guess seething sarcasm and obvious hurt are a tone.  I thought it was more towards the "righteous fury barely bottled,"  but I guess I'll have to settle for tone.  I probably didn't make feel any better when I shot back that she didn't seem to have any problems subjecting the boy to her cowardice and inability to commit to making it work.  Fuck it.  I'm heartsick from listening to the boy cry at night when she doesn't answer.

I have obviously had plenty of time to reflect, and in my remembrances I thought of moving her into her place.  We showed up at her soon-to-be ex-husband's house and picked up her stuff.  He wasn't home, and we only took what was hers, and I was not in this man's house when he came home.  We kept a large distance so as to not disrespect him while she dealt with the situation.  He was born in East Germany, and was stereotypically stoic.  No kids, though.

I'm not letting her drag her new hard dick through the remains of our shattered life.  I will not stand for some motherfucker thinking he's saving her from me, while listening to my son crying in his room.  I'll kneecap anyone who comes through my door uninvited or unwelcome.  Not on my watch.  So yeah, I'm pretty mad about it.  I have no doubt she'd do it and blame me the whole time.  It's all my fault anyway.

So next weekend I'm loaading up some crap in a UHaul and taking it to a storage unit.  She can pick her shit up at Jimmy's U-Store-Your-Crap. 

It's just gonna hurt for a little while longer.

Ain't nothin' to a G.