Right. That’s it. I’ve snapped.

My scrupulous intellectual integrity prohibits me from saying that I’d prefer to be homeless than living with this stupid fucking asshole of a woman, but it is not much of an exaggeration.

And let no one say it’s good that I’ve a greater incentive to move out; the incentive has been there for a long time, and I do not appreciate having my choices reduced to either that or a bridge.

I’m awake because I’m too fucking angry to sleep. I have been seriously considering spending the 25th out of the house; for the first time spending the night in a field under the stars. But while the cold I could tolerate, the rain I could not, and I now know what I will do: I will pretend. I will act as though I do not despise every atom for its complacency in being part of her body, not to spare her any bile but to make my life as easy as possible until I move out. And then I will simply never speak to her again.

I’m sorry, but sometimes one needs a fucking outlet.