And so I think perhaps I was asking to feel stupid and trod-upon when I answered the phone, having already recognized the area code. Boston. No, let's be specific. Andover. Say it with contempt, wrinkle your nose. I do. Annne-dooooover.

It was my Satan of an exboyfriend calling to make me feel awful. Or, rather, getting the okay from me about his dropping out school (with one semester left to go).

I think people who lack stick-to-it-iveness are worthless, as a rude sidenote.

He also filled me in on the fact he and his new (redheaded, I hate orange-y redheads) girlfriend are having s+m bonding experiences. Ugg. Not the mental picture I like having.

So, I tried to talk straight with him, before I remembered that I've never been able to express myself clearly with him listening. I always trip over my feelings and get anxious about my intelligence and my grammar and my syntax and also whether or not I sound less mature (than what, I'm not sure).

So, I waddled around the conversation for a bit, before realising it was a long lost cause. And I resigned myself to the fact that Michael and I had different (to say the least) experiences in that relationship.

He will never, ever know that he made me so insecure. He will never know how much I will always hate him for it. And he will certainly never know how long and hard he used to make me cry.

Thank god I don't cry about that kid anymore. I almost did after I got off the phone with him and I turned up the music SO loudly in my car I couldn't hear myself scream...but I held onto myself. And I refuse to drop anymore tears for that one. No matter how angry he makes me.

And how does he still make me so angry? I don't know how he still knows the entrance to directly-under-my-skin...but he does. So well.

James and I laughed about psycho ex-friends on the phone for a while. His observations about Michael never fail to make me giggle, in a mean way.

Meanness is something I'm okay with in these situations. I have no problem that a bit of petty name calling and gossiping makes me feel infinitely better. So there maturity.

And you know what I remembered? I don't LIKE Michael as a person. I haven't for a very, very long time. He is not good, for all the virtue he fronts, and he is self-absorbed to the point of explosion. I don't like him. And that makes me want to laugh and cry at the same time.

But, then I just remember, no more tears for him! And I laugh.