So natch, of COURSE, my ex- showed up on Match.com this past Saturday, perusing my profile. He’s now lying about his age, while still posting photos of himself that were up twelve years ago when we first met. He’s back in town, and his brother lives two miles from my house. Bet you a dollar he’s driven past to see if I have a for sale sign out in the yard.

It’s what we do, to your point.

He had one or two photos that I hadn’t seen, which I know to be at least two years old, photos which I’d begged him for and he claimed he didn’t have. It is simply remarkable how many photos he can scare up when he wants to go hunting for new meat.

The things we do. Honestly. And yes, the house goes up for sale in spring. And I am moving.

There is no question that some folks show up in our lives to force us to do Big Work, which has far less to do with romantic love and everything to do with extricating the emotional parasites we inherited from our parents. God love ’em, they serve a purpose. Parents and parasites. Sometimes they’re the same thing. But I digress.

Fuck. If nothing else, comedy fodder. I gotta go pack more boxes.