I cried on the drive to work today. It was anxiety over moving house...if it ever happens. Then it was because I was just saf about the whole situation.
A few hours later and I cannot express how relieved I am that I didn't phone him last night. He text me this morning to ask if my solicitor had received the paperwork. Err, you should have been asking me weeks ago fuckface. Surprise surprise he's checking everything is in order as he wants to come to my home and take some of his shit. I told him sure, but he has to stop at my parents house en route to collect the massive TV from the 1990s that they're storing for him. This precious item given to him by his now dead father that we had to cart half way across the country because it was so precious. This sentimental analogue monster that took space in the removal van so I had to leave things behind at our last home 300 miles away. The piece of junk he'd forgotten about and now refuses to collect.
I'm so angry. He deserves none of my tears or thoughts. He's coming tobmy home on 5th March and will be leaving with the TV and internet. Fucking great. I can only assume that he's found himself a new bachelor wank pad and wants his stuff as it now suits him. In the meantime I'll be stuck in the house cut off from the world..or so it will seem. I fucking hate him!
And I'm going to have to see him for the first time since July as he doesn't have a key. It's not going to be pretty. I'm not lifting a finger to help him and if he brings someone and they dare laugh in my house or do or say something I dont like I'm going to flip out.
And still no viewings for the house. Why is he able to move on like he did nothing wrong and I'm the one suffering.
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