Today would have been my 11th wedding anniversary.

Which is probably why the Ex finally contacted his real estate agent.  I want to sell, he wants to sell, only he refuses to do anything, including turning over any necessary paperwork.  He is a shit.

I have no interest in communicating with him in any way whatsoever.  I hate seeing his name on the occasional piece of mail sent here.

I never had a child with him because he’d have been a shitty father – like his shitty father, or his shitty step-father.  It used to be a struggle just to get him to take the dog out to the bathroom; I can’t imagine he’s be any more responsible with a child.  He is a child.

Fuck you, I’m glad we’re not married.  I wish I would have had the balls to break up with you long before you finally broke up with me.  I cheated on you a lot more than you can imagine.  Remember those pills I had you take after we got back from Thailand the second time?  Yeah, I had chlamydia, which I’m sure I gave you.  You are a passive aggressive shit and I hope the rest of your life is at least as miserable as the shit you’ve lived so far; maybe then you’ll realize I wasn’t the problem.  The problem is that you are a sad, pathetic little man.  Happy fucking anniversary.  Fuck off.

I swear.  True story.

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