Two weeks ago, I found a new place to live. It's closer to work, but there's no garage, no dishwasher, and no laundry facilities. It's something I can afford. It's a short-term lease, which is good since I was invited to apply to a place I made the top seven at so, we'll see.
The whole process of packing up just half the stuff, half of what is mine, it's draining me. It's wearing me out.
Part of it the question of "Whose is this?" Is it more of a gift from my family? Was it really meant for one of us?
I don't even have anything more in me.
Wednesday, July 8, 2015, my ex had our dog euthanized because her cancer was so bad. I took the day off from work. I didn't have work in me that day. I don't have packing in me now; I keep finding her things all over the house, the places she hid her favorite toys - I can't. I can't stand all of this happening all together.
The movers are coming on Tuesday and I've got maybe a dozen boxes half-packed. I'm desperately trying not to freak out or panic, but that plan isn't going well. I'm going to have to explain they can't take every box they see, that they can't just grab stuff without asking or showing me. At least they're getting paid by the hour.
Right now, I'm an angry, angry harpy that's about to go for someone's throat. People need to fucking stop saying "Things happen for a reason." Yeah, they do - it's called he didn't want to marry me. It's called I'm an atheist who can't be out in Texas for personal safety reasons. It's called shut the fuck up about your invisible friend and his plan. M-kay?
Don't exclaim more than eight years is a long time. I FUCKING KNOW IT; I FUCKING GAVE UP SO MANY FUCKING OPPORTUNITIES ($$$$$$$$$$) TO STAY IN THIS RELATIONSHIP. DON'T THINK I'M NOT THINKING ABOUT THE SIX-FIGURE SALARY I COULD BE EARNING RIGHT NOW.
So, say, "Sorry to hear that." Then shut up. Please.
