Breathing. Breathing. Breathing.

The other day I wrote about That Guy, how I can’t block his email address without an existing email, but I’d deleted all his emails, emptied the trash, and sent in a sweeper in case there were any stragglers.

So obviously today I get an email from him saying he’d been going through some books and found two I’d loaned him a million years ago, wanting to make arrangements to return them. (By mail or go-between. Not by seeing me in person. Don’t be absurd — you save “in person” for people you give a fuck about, right?)

So he either saw the post, because he follows this page on Tumblr, or he just happened to have emailed me. I really don’t know which.

Also, if he saw it, part of the post was: “There was comfort in the idea of closure, because there’d be no more worrying about letting my guard down when checking email — let’s be honest, stupidly half-hoping I’d ever be worth more than a drunk-texted apology at 3 a.m.”

So…if we’re going to assume he’s seen it, the underlying message of that email is that I’m NOT worth more than that.

So I guess it’s a good thing I’m heading to therapy in a half hour, yeah?

Breathing. Breathing. Breathing. I am, like, 150 times stronger than this.

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2 thoughts on “Breathing. Breathing. Breathing.

  1. Ugh. Unless they have huge sentimental value, tell him to freaking donate the books somewhere. This douchesprout deserves not a single extra iota of your time or energy. And then block his useless ass, since he was kind enough to provide you with the means. (I’d say ‘fuck him’, but let’s be honest, he doesn’t deserve that kind of fun.)

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