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What I don’t miss

May 22, 2005

Yesterday, as I spent the entire day laying around sad and depressed, I was thinking about all of the things that I miss about my ex and it only made me more depressed. This morning, as I stepped out of the shower, I was reminded that there were some things I lost that I don’t miss. Here are some of those things.

The thought that triggered this idea: Sticky floors. He used a ton of hairspray and it made the bathroom floor so sticky, it was gross. And I was the one that always ended up mopping it up.

He had no friends but one, who was a total loser.

His total loser friend. He spent every Christmas and Thanksgiving with us, then bitched about the food I made.

He made me feel bad that I had friends. I never spent any time with them because he made me feel guilty about it.

His freakish obession with his ears. He hated them, and not a day went by without hearing about it.

His maternal grandparents. They had nothing nice to say about anybody. I would love to be a fly on their living room wall now.

The way he obsessed about money. Paying bills was a dramatic day in our house, he complained every time, yet had no problems blowing money on stupid crap every week.

One of those things: baseball cards. He wasted ridiculous amounts of money on baseball cards.

The way he dried his hair with a space heater.

The nights he cooked anything other than steak (exception, my birthday last year).

The way he would say tactless things like, “boy, you’re putting on some weight there baby,” and it sounded more like an insult, rather than that he cared that I stayed in shape.

He made fun of me for being messy, but he wasn’t great about cleaning up after himself either.

I had to plan spending quality time with him around his writing, which generally ended up being that he would sit in the bedroom, staring at the computer for eight hours, and accomplishing nothing. Even though I supported his dream, it often meant that I took a back burner. I hated that.

He never came home with me to see my family.

He didn’t get why I would work so hard at a job I hated.

The way his cat chewed up my purses and scratched anything he got his claws on.

He liked that our dishes didn’t match, and our home decor had no theme.

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