Fin
This is the last time I will write about Mel. I guess you could say I’m closing out this chapter of my life. In reality, the last goodbye will happen will little fanfare, but in the recesses of my soul, I’m already starting to celebrate my awakening from this episode that just began to feel like a nightmare from which I could not stir.
It’s felt like that for a while now; so, I guess you could say that I’m celebrating my freedom, too.
Last night I celebrated by taking all of her clothes that were *still* in my dresser and closet, and tossing them onto the bed of the spare room where the rest of her shit is. I should probably take a picture of the state of this room—as a reminder as to what disrespect and gall looks like.
Tonight, after my workout, I’m going to walk down to the local pizza/sandwich shop and buy myself a sub of some sort and a beer. Then I’ll come home, back up her files onto a CD-ROM, and then delete her user and email accounts from my desktop computer. If her laptop is still hanging around, then I’ll deauthorize her laptop from playing my iTunes, remove the wireless access (including the card), change the administrator password to “password” (so she can manage to remember it—[hackers, have a field day!]), and then delete my account from that.
Once she is completely gone from my apartment (should be tomorrow), I’ll have the lock re-keyed, change my mailbox back to just “Cook”, change the voicemail on my home phone, delete her from my cell phone, and give her cell phone number to *anyone* (and I mean anyone) who calls for her. I’ll collect her mail for a week, and then whatever comes for her will be returned to the sender.
Say what you want about me, but don’t ever accuse me of being wishy-washy. I might wobble while I'm making my decision, but once it is made I don’t fuck around. I mean what I say, and I say what I mean…I always have and I always will.
…So, this may be my last blog entry until next week. I’ve got a 3-bedroom apartment that’s mine all mine to sanitize. Thankfully, my landlord is lending me her vacuum and steam clearer, so I’ll be steamin’ away this weekend, thinking about my next chapter which will begin with the following:
11:35 – June 16, 2006 – Chicago, IL
The steam rose from beneath the passenger car as I stepped off the train. I reached back for my bag from the red-cap, and as the heels of my loafers clicked on the cement walkway littered with gum and cigarettes, I checked the buttons of my jacket: the smallest sign of my lingering anxiety. The suit had weathered the trip better than I had.
I reached for my phone, pressing the first speed dial.
“I’m here,” I said when she answered, stepping through the sliding glass doors onto the slick tile of Union Station. “Where are you?”
The connection broke up for a moment. I scanned the busy crowed of unfamiliar faces, more frantic than I would wish to be.
“I’m right here,” she said with a nervous laugh.
I turned as a voice I knew fell onto my other ear. My hand fell away. I saw her and finally I smiled: it was going to be a good day.
fin
It’s felt like that for a while now; so, I guess you could say that I’m celebrating my freedom, too.
Last night I celebrated by taking all of her clothes that were *still* in my dresser and closet, and tossing them onto the bed of the spare room where the rest of her shit is. I should probably take a picture of the state of this room—as a reminder as to what disrespect and gall looks like.
Tonight, after my workout, I’m going to walk down to the local pizza/sandwich shop and buy myself a sub of some sort and a beer. Then I’ll come home, back up her files onto a CD-ROM, and then delete her user and email accounts from my desktop computer. If her laptop is still hanging around, then I’ll deauthorize her laptop from playing my iTunes, remove the wireless access (including the card), change the administrator password to “password” (so she can manage to remember it—[hackers, have a field day!]), and then delete my account from that.
Once she is completely gone from my apartment (should be tomorrow), I’ll have the lock re-keyed, change my mailbox back to just “Cook”, change the voicemail on my home phone, delete her from my cell phone, and give her cell phone number to *anyone* (and I mean anyone) who calls for her. I’ll collect her mail for a week, and then whatever comes for her will be returned to the sender.
Say what you want about me, but don’t ever accuse me of being wishy-washy. I might wobble while I'm making my decision, but once it is made I don’t fuck around. I mean what I say, and I say what I mean…I always have and I always will.
…So, this may be my last blog entry until next week. I’ve got a 3-bedroom apartment that’s mine all mine to sanitize. Thankfully, my landlord is lending me her vacuum and steam clearer, so I’ll be steamin’ away this weekend, thinking about my next chapter which will begin with the following:
11:35 – June 16, 2006 – Chicago, IL
The steam rose from beneath the passenger car as I stepped off the train. I reached back for my bag from the red-cap, and as the heels of my loafers clicked on the cement walkway littered with gum and cigarettes, I checked the buttons of my jacket: the smallest sign of my lingering anxiety. The suit had weathered the trip better than I had.
I reached for my phone, pressing the first speed dial.
“I’m here,” I said when she answered, stepping through the sliding glass doors onto the slick tile of Union Station. “Where are you?”
The connection broke up for a moment. I scanned the busy crowed of unfamiliar faces, more frantic than I would wish to be.
“I’m right here,” she said with a nervous laugh.
I turned as a voice I knew fell onto my other ear. My hand fell away. I saw her and finally I smiled: it was going to be a good day.
fin
posted by trace at 4:30 PM
1 Comments:
I am proud of you and your Chicago Lady was right about the car. Skip the car and skip that Mel! Have a glorious rebirth and focus on the happy future!
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