Seriously. Seriously?!?!? really? really? really? He thinks I don't want to talk to him b/c I "can't"?! b/c it's too hard? I want to get rid of his stuff because it is emotionally ruining me? Meanwhile he is off "becoming a new person," "flying all over the place," "doing exciting career crap," [not a real quote, fine] meeting "all these amazing people".... grrrr.....

I can't decide whether or not to let him know that I barely spoke when he called because ALL I had going through my mind were disbelief, anger, and jeering laughter. "Say hi to your family." Say fucking hi to them yourself if you care to all of a sudden now, after not giving as much a shit as possible to speak to them before. "I miss your niece." Really? My niece that you haven't seen for three years b/c you couldn't be fucked to get over yourself and get on a plane and come to see her because you missed her so much? Awwww... yeah, I'll be SURE to get you a photo. Fucking jackass cocksucker pissant head up your ass wipetard.

How wonderful that you quit drinking. How lovely that you are over your fear of planes. Oh I'm delighted that you are sociable now. Isn't it grand that you're expanding your interests. Oh the joy oh the joy. How convenient. Clearly I was holding you back. Get fucked. Get fucked. Get fucked.

Calling to "talk." Ok. Talk. I'll believe it when I hear it. He "talks"... about how he's worried about me... and his stuff. He's worried that I hate him, and that my friends and I spend all our time talking about how horrible he is, and that I'm going to wreck his precious stuff when I put it out of my house into the garage b/c he's worried that I don't care about him and so won't be careful w/ it and will do as shitty and careless a job of packing it as I would even if he wasn't worried about me hating him.

"I've changed." Right. Well, worrying about me is still worrying about you, so that's a comforting constant. "Talking" is still "being an anal pedant," so thank god for that chicken soup. You still don't think I'm capable of performing the most menial retard tasks without the assistance of a man. Three cheers for fucking tradition. Good for you and your asshole revolution. You have no idea what change even means.

The only thing that's keeping me from calling you back and screaming at you that we're not talking because I have nothing kind to say to you and b/c you make me fearfully angry, is the teeny tiny bit of satisfaction from knowing that, as you say, everything in your life is great and perfect except for things to do with me (and your stuff). Well, guess what, dingleberry -- keep dangling. And when you finally drop... don't worry, it'll just hurt your ego. Or maybe you'll just float away, buoyed by all your hot air.

pansycline at 9:02 p.m.

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