It’s no secret that I’ve been making attempts to move out of my somewhat dangerously violent flat and given my lease is up at the end of the month, I gently persuaded The Boyf into helping me begin packing. The idea was we were just going to do a car-load and then next weekend the little sister and her boyf were coming up the road and we’d clear it all then. At least, that was the plan.
What was it that Burns said about best made plans?
Friday evening I get a phone call, actually I get several phone calls, enough that The Boyf started answering them for me and then calling the police on my behalf to report the content of said phonecalls as there was something a little wrong with him just passing on the message that I was going to get stabbed in the shower and not alerting the proper authorities. Given the idea of being stabbed in the shower was far from appealing it was decided that all of this should stop right now and stop it did.
The next morning me, The Boyf and my parents empty the contents of my flat into two cars and get the hell out of town. I’d told the parents that Violent Sidekick had threatened to destroy my things if I didn’t move them out of the flat; I didn’t tell them that the things in question was the integrity of my skin and the vital organs underneath it.
I have officially moved out, I have no intention of ever having anything to do with them again. I’ve changed my phone number, I’ve re-directed my mail, I’ve deleted my social networking site I was socially networked to then on and I don’t even have keys to that place anymore. Sayonara suckas.
