Respect the Bubble

I’m vexed.

Over the past few weeks, after blessedly no communication for months, The Douche has been finding inconsequential pretexts to nudge me. It started with my birthday, when he sent me a message to an account he is fully aware that I almost never use. It simply read, “I just needed to say happy birthday.”

Really?
Since then there have been texts and protracted voicemail messages of trifling consequence. We have no continuing obligations; there really isn’t any reasonable justification for him to be contacting me. Worse, I have an uneasy suspicion that he’s been outside my house, at least once, when I wasn’t home. (I can’t even express how much *that* freaked me out.)

Ginger put it very succinctly, “I don’t see why he doesn’t get the picture you want nothing to do with him. Good lord, you think the divorce would have made that pretty obvious.”

Over the weekend I received yet another e-mail. This one says that he has “things” he needs to say to me and questions that he wants to ask.

At the risk of sounding like a broken record… Really?

A year and a half ago, heck even a year ago, I could have used the closure. At this point I just don’t care what he has to say. As I am wont to do, I handled this on my own. I’ve worked through the worst of the emotional turmoil. While it still affects how I interrelate in the present, I have come to terms with the past. That doesn’t mean I have any interest in revisiting it.

I don’t know what his intentions are – if he’s looking for personal resolution, absolution, or reconciliation. Regardless, I’m not keen on participating. I had hoped that my lack of response would have clued him in to that… alas, that particular observation seems to have escaped him. I’m afraid I’m going to have to be more direct about it – in a please-direct-any-communication-through-my-lawyer variety.

I just want to shout at him – you made a decision. Commit to it. Live with the consequences. It’s called being an adult.

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