28 December 2004

I have no idea what just happened. We're hanging out. I'm trying to work (the computer is still in the living room), he's procrastinating on taking the trash out (even though I already put all the trash from the house in bags by the back door). Suddenly he asks when my mom is going to take her folding tables off the porch. I reminded him that we were storing them until we needed her to come get them, and she certainly can't do it by herself. He says he didn't know this and they're cluttering things up, along with all my boxes on the porch. Umm - excuse me? We don't use the fucking porch. I'm suddenly nothing but clutter in his way again. Once a month, whether I need it or not, he goes all PMS-y on me. And it shakes me to the core, because it's his house, and if he cracks, I'm the one who's screwed. Start packing, eh?

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