I decided tonight to write a proper entry on my laptop instead of a quickie on my phone.
Can I find the bloody thing? No. Out of the whole entire house that needs packing up I've filled 2 boxes with stuff I actually need.
I am not impressed at my own stupidity so no proper entry again today.
Since I told Gavin not to contact me again I feel like I can't be bothered to carry on with my diary.
Or maybe it's just the fact that I have absolutely nothing to record. Not doing any packing. Sitting on my arse being lazy. It doesn't make for a day worth recording.
Maybe tomorrow something interesting will hapen.
Early start.
Lovely sunrise..alone.
Work.
Big shouty argument with work husband.
Sold some crap.
Packed a whole box.
Found a picture of me and Gavin.
Binned it.
Doing ok.
I still haven't shed any tears, I'm proud of myself.
Although I could quite easily cry at the sight that greeted me when I opened the garage door to have a go this evening. I spent 60 minutes sweating and swearing, dragging crap out onto the driveway. I burrowed a path to the back where I found about 20 bags of clothes. Mine and his. Various sizes. I fully intend to bin his, or try one of those cash for clothes places, but not sure about mine. None of the stuff fits. It's clothes ranging from size 12 to 20+. Some is brand new. I would love to try and get into it again. Plus I have the space in my new house. Yes fuck it decision made, I'm keeping it.
So I sweat and swore some more and dragged the majority if it back in again. Not very productive but I had a huge pizza takeaway to pat myself on the back.
And now I have to get up at 5am to go to go to the horses in the morning because I skived off tonight to eat piza.
As a certain person is no longer in my life I don't really have anything to write today. After all this time waiting to be rid of him it would be silly to go on about how I'm irritated that he hasn't messaged me an apology. How he hasn't asked where I'm moving to. How I made it to the middle of the garage this evening and discovered loads of junk from his work that I now have to dispose of.
So I won't. Instead I'll say nothing and have an evening off.
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.
I've had the most unproductive day EVER.
I have literally watched TV and stuffed my face.
In other news twat face text earlier to confirm he is coming round tomorrow morning to collect stuff. I asked him to send me the money he owes for the bloody skip, he said yes he will. He hasn't.
I've hidden a few things he probably was expecting to take. Like the £100+ printer he made me buy him for Christmas and I happily did so not knowing he'd just had sex with somebody's grandmother for the first time. I predict there will be ugly scenes. He won't take all his junk. Won't give me the money.
Won't fuck off and die.
