Sunday, 2 July 2017

Day 354

He turned up. Late. In a poxy small van and without a helper.  He looked rough. Unhealthy. Scruffy. I was so glad I had made the effort to put on some make up  and clean clothes.

It didn't start well. I went out to move my car so he could park his van outside. Error number 1 - he didn't ask me why I had an old banger instead of my comfortable dog friendly estate.  When I questioned him being lacking in the van department he got all huffy and actually made to get back in it and drive off with a "fuck this" attitude. Unbelievable. The slimy toad has avoided doing anything house related for 11 months and he thinks he can just swan off because he feels uncomfortable. After telling him quite loudly that he's not the hard done by one and in no uncertain terms that he was a fucking wanker, he made into the house.

He refused my help which I was glad of. It was only offered as his tshirt was getting more and more sweat soaked with every trip to and from the van. My house is built into a hill so I have a steep driveway then a load of steps just to get to the front door. A heart attack would have been quite inconvenient and would mean that I would have to deal with it, so carrying some stuff downstairs seemed preferable. But he was having none if it.

He was here a couple of hours. I left him to it. An amusing conversation was going on online so he caught me laughing at my phone a few times which I quite liked.

At one point I suggested a reconfiguration of the stuff he was shoving in the van. Squashy stuff was taking precedent and he had no room for the bits of furniture I paid a solicitor to confirm in writing he could have. He suggested he came back another day to collect the rest. Gobsmacked. I stood there and told the man I used to love that I never wanted to see or hear from him again after today. I was calm, my chin didn't quiver but some treacherous tears welled in my eyes. But I maintained my composure. His face was bright red, sweaty, disgusting. He looked choked up. I didn't care.

So I carried on staying out the way while he carried on making alot of noise and actually doing very little. When he announced he was going without taking anything from the garage he said again he could come back next Sunday. Seriously what is wrong with him? "When you leave here I want you to delete my phone number. There is no coming back."  So he said "seeya dogs" and off he went. That upset me. The animals were our children. Our lives revolved around, were ruled by the animals. He was obviously just along for the ride and wasn't invested in them like I am. He didn't pet them, cuddle them. Fuck me I pay more attention to a stranger in the streets dog than he did to "our" own. He didn't ask after the horses either.

Neither did he ask where I was going to. How rude. It's insulting that he cares so little for another human being that he wronged.

Obviously I didn't get a heartfelt apology either.

So it's done. He's gone. Forever. I don't feel sad. I feel pissed off I have to deal with all the stuff left behind. It's a lot for a person to do alone. I have no time during the week and weekends, well I'm just so damned lazy.

But he's gone. That's the main thing. In theory no future entries should include him. He is no longer in my life.

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