YOU’RE A B*TCH; I’M GLAD I LEFT

Those are the loving words that came out of his potty mouth Tuesday morning when I explained to him that he could no longer come and go out of my place. To take a step back, while I was holed up in AM meetings, I received the most non-chalant, as if nothing happened, casual voicemail from the man who is beneath pond scum saying he was going to stop by to pick up a few of his things and was that ok? HELL NO, it’s not ok. In what world is it ok to come back and pick up some of you belongings when you left? In any case, I was sharing this idea with him when he screamed the title of this entry at me while I was at work with my boss in the office next to mine. Not pleasant. By the time I reached him he had already come and gone. I was furious especially since the day before I found his journal entries in his drawer and left them there to make copies later. As soon as he told me he had come and gone, I knew that those entries would be gone and sure enough when I got home, they were. DAMN! I was too nice; I should have taken those damn things when I had the chance.

He has the audacity to call me a b*tch. He’s the one that left.