I got an e-mail the other day from crazy asking what to do with my mail. I naturally told him to just leave it on the porch and I'd come over to pick it up - no face to face contact.
After my usual Tuesday night kickboxing class, I headed straight from the gym to the old house to pick up the mail. When I was turning left onto the street, I realized I had been driving behind the ex the entire time. It didn't click until the red car started slowing down in front of the house and I remembered he stopped driving his truck around when the gas prices went insane and starting driving a car.
As if it wasn't bad enough that we pulled up to the house at the same time, the new roommate, cigarette in hand, fat in the ass, was on the porch to greet us both.
I sat in the car for a few seconds and figured I could handle this one of two ways. I could either get out of the car, introduce myself, try to be nice, grab the mail and go or...I could get the fuck out of there RIGHT NOW! I chose the latter and sped down the street deciding not to go straight home, but to take a spin around the block to allow them to go inside.
When I came back, both had disappeared, so I quickly made my way up to the front porch to find a stack of mail underneath the leg of a strange table. Strange in the sense that I had never seen it before - it wasn't mine and it wasn't his. The front door was cracked and I could hear the TV on inside. The familiar shape of his head bobbed past the curtains in the kitchen. I immediately felt a wave of ick spread over me.
I drove away exasperated and practically hyperventilating. I wasn't sure whether to cry or scream or punch things. All I know is this is a sign that I'm not over him. I'm not over the fact that that is MY fucking house and some other bitch is living there and I'm not over the fact that that is the life I'm supposed to be leading right now and forever and some abusive asshole ripped it away from me in a matter of months. I'm just not over the anger.
Fuck. I'm never getting the mail again.