Thursday, April 3, 2008

Anniversary best forgotten

There is no need for flowers or cards on this anniversary because I never thought so many shitastic things could fall on a single day. Lets see April 1 marks the month I turn 25 (not so scary, yet still another year older...and really? This is not where I saw myself at 25), one week since I've been living at my parents' house ("My name is Lara, I'm 24 and yes, I live with my parents." - my new pick up line, by the way) and...the grand finale...it would have also been the ex and I's two year anniversary.
It hadn't even crossed my mind. I was just going on my merry way, picking up my life one piece at a time and then he has to send me an e-mail about the goddamn anniversary. Apparently his phone alarm went off and reminded him, then he took it upon himself to let me know while adding, "It's kind of sad when you think about it." Oh, how observant of you. I wasn't aware that soul-less beings could feel sadness.
Needless to say my productivity turned to shit after reading that e-mail. Why does everything have to happen on Tuesdays? My grandpa died, I spontaneously moved out of my house and I'm reminded of a best forgotten anniversary all on Tuesdays. Bad news Tuesdays are really bad for my newspaper deadlines...
Anyway, I moved out last week and while my plan was to just leave my stuff where it lay in that house until the first weekend of May (I mean I am paying rent there afterall), my family suddenly sprang into action. I may have mentioned my fear that all of my stuff would be broken or laying in the front lawn when I went back to the house, which could have triggered my family's suspicion that the ex was teetering on edge of fucking psycho. Or maybe it was all the other previous incidents I mentioned, but my dad was saying, "he's unstable, you need to get your stuff out of there." And, what was weird was I continued to defend him. My mom said, "I don't want you over there by yourself. What if he pushes you down the basement stairs." And, I kept hearing myself say, "it's fine. I don't think he'd do that."
Then, I thought about it and came to the conclusion that the next step, without a doubt, would have been him punching me in the face, slamming me against a wall or pushing me down those steps. I'd never really thought about the progression of his anger and what it could have become.
Armed with a tape dispenser and a gigantic roll of bubble wrap, my dad and my sister went on a get-lara's-shit-packed-up-and-out-of-this-house crusade. My mom and I casually packed boxes, knowing there was no way all of this stuff was making it out of this house today, while my dad and sister acted as though a hurricane was about to blow in and there was only precious little time to get the valuables packed in the car and driven out of town. Every couple of minutes my sister would walk through the living room and out the front door, leaning back and straining under the weight of a giant cardboard box while saying matter-of-factly, "we really should get everything out, lets just get it done..." I figured, since I was going to have to pay April rent ($425 - cheap and never to be attainable again because of that bastard. No, I'm not bitter...) I might as well use it as storage until I absolutely had to get the stuff out. Why let him win when it's more fun and bitchy to leave all of my shit and boxes in his way?
The walls were bare and the place echoed when you talked by the time we were done. While we didn't get everything packed up, it was blatantly evident who made that place look like a home. Now, it just looked cold and hideously uninviting. I'm glad I don't live there anymore.
Needless to say I got a phone call that night when he came home from work to an unexpectant empty house, but all he could say was, "are you going to patch up the holes you made in the walls from the nails?" I'm pretty sure my dad's head almost exploded when I told him. His forehead turned bright red and his faced screwed up into this annoyed scowl as he said, "Um, I don't think so."
Oh, and I'm pretty sure my first dog died on April 1 too - just another little something to add to Shit Fest, which is the name of the holiday I'm requesting for April 1. The government is going to love this proposal.

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