It was actually pleasant. We had a nice, short conversation about our lives and played catch-up a little bit. When I first saw him, I didn’t want to talk to him or anything, but after I showered and made pretty, I was mentally and physically prepared. He gave me the once over with his eyes, I’ve lost a lot of weight since we broke up. He got bigger.
Why do I hate myself so much that I let myself get involved with things like this? I must seriously not value myself as a human being. He seemed more down to earth, though, now that he’s packing some pounds.
I miss him. But no chance, buddy.
This may just be an exercise in pettiness. Oh well.
Things I will be taking with me when I eventually move out:
1. Washer and Dryer that my mom bought
3. All my dishes, cups, silverware
4. All my pots and pans
5. All my baking supplies
6. My television
7. My pūneʻe
8. Everything in my bedroom
9. Metal shelves out back
10. All my cleaning supplies
They will be left with the shit they brought and never bothered to unpack. They will be left with that crazy old lady who never takes her shoes off and tracks mud and dog poop into the house. They will be left wondering where I am.