Shucks. I barely missed him. Went back outside and he was pulling out of the driveway. Backed into my hedges, which was hilarious.

Reminds me of the week after he left, when he rode off on his bike, all angry and stupid. He wrecked on the way out the driveway, threatening to commit suicide.

Anyway, when I first got home, H was here working on his van. I said something to him, trying to be upbeat. He was short in return, and I asked, "Are we back to not talking again?" And he simply replied, "Yes." I kinda snapped. Yes, I pushed. Like I said, I'm through with rules. My sitch breaks the rules anyway. I'm tired of going to bed crying and waking up crying because of how dumb I feel for validating what he's doing. He has run over me like a freakin' 18-wheeler, and I've let him. And cried for it. I'm done with that.

I tried to talk nicely, and that's when he started going off. Get this: The sunuvabitch said, "I gave you another chance and you blew it." WHAT???? I said, "That's funny, because I thought I was giving you another chance, and you blew it." He started in with the hate speech again. Told me I had set everything up. He said, "On Wednesday, you were the same manipulative b*itch I've always known you to be. You knew what was going on, and I think you set the whole thing up." I said, "Don't you find that it takes more faith for you to believe that than just to believe that I was simply bringing you a gift, since just the night before you had told me that the best way I had showed my love to you when we were together was through giving you handmade gifts?"

Anyway, he started telling me (again) how he never loved me. How I used him for his money. . How I used him for everything. I told him that was nonsense. That I'll be getting a lot more of his money now that he's gone than I ever did when we were together. He told me to "take everything. I don't want anything. Take everything I have." Then, he said, "Get the f*ck outta my house." I felt like we were right back to Sept. 16. I started laughing and told him this wasn't his house anymore -- that his girlfriend was going to pay for it for me. Ouch. But it felt soooo d*mn good. Down, girl, down.

He started slinging tools, rared back to hit me once, and I laughed and dared him. Nevermind I coulda whooped his a$$ -- yes, even preggo, I believe. I told him to do it. To give me one more thing to rake him over. He just started slinging stuff in the garage, yelling so loud I thought the neighbors were going to call the cops. I just stayed there and let him be rude. Told him he needed God.

I told him he would get tired of his girlfriend (J) -- that obviously he already had. And in three years from now, when he had totally lost love for her, that there would be a 3-year-old little boy that would still be here, wanting his dad's love. That's when H went nuts again. "F*ck that kid. I never wanted that f*ckin' kid to begin with. I never want to see it," blah, blah, blah. Again, the same crap he was saying in Sept. when he left.

I reminded him we were at this angry stage just a few months ago and he pulled it together recently. He said, "I was just doing that because I was trying to do the right thing, but I don't care anymore." Started alluding to suicide. I told him not to do it 'til I popped the popcorn, and he went nuts. "You wanna watch me die? Is that what you want?" I told him as long as I was still listed on his insurance, that his money was more dependable than he is. Geez, I'm starting to realize how b*tchy I was.

He finally chilled out a little, but it wasn't in a good way. I had pulled up a chair to where he was working. Told him I would sit there and irritate him until he finally stopped coming over. It was almost like two mad people trying to have a convo. By mad, I mean crazy. Really. Asked him, in a joking way, if he'd still be changing my lightbulbs. He said maybe. Asked if he still planned to teach the baby how to ride a bike. He said maybe. Of course I think he was just being sarcastic at that point.

I asked him if he had ever been sexually abused as a child. And he didn't say anything. I told him -- again this was the "mad" convo -- that there was obviously some reason for all of his anger, and that he was directing it at me because he knew I was safe. He said, "Oh, this is nothing." He still didn't answer my question.

I've come to the realization that he's a nut job. And yes, maybe I am a little, too. But I decided, come hell or high water, I would *not* go to bed again tonight feeling like I had been run over by him. If I was going to hurt -- and I will -- I'll do it with some dignity.

'Nuff said.