Yes, I have stuff left to pack, like, oh, um, clothes and bathroom stuff and, you know, everything that didn’t already get done.  Yes, I’ve basically been working my ass off since I got home from my workday.  My car is fully loaded with most everything fragile that I don’t want in the truck.  I’ve been packing boxes and moving stuff around.  I’ve asked Hawthorn to do exactly one thing: hold a shelf while I unscrew it so it doesn’t fall on my head.  And yet, what else he is doing is following me around turning off lights I need on (since I’m not staying in one room and trying to carry things through the house), critiquing where I leave stuff (yes, I know the headboard is on the porch, yes I know it’s raining because the door is open and I am standing right here), and now as I’m filling the washing machine he says, “Oh, I was gonna take a shower in a bit.”  Well could you do it right now, please? Or wait an hour?  Because no, I’m not moving dirty clothes. No, no, no, no.  Boys do gross things like that, I do not.  Also, Hawthorn, no I am probably not going to hear a band with you tonight.  I don’t know if you’ve noticed but the house is filled with boxes because I’m moving out in the morning because you broke up with me.  I don’t need you to be helpful but if you could stop hindering and annoying, that’d be fucking great.

Update: Yes, he asked if I wanted to go out THREE times before he left.  When I quizzed him on what he was doing (the band he wanted to see started 20 minutes ago, wasn’t he going?) he asked if I was trying to get rid of him. Yes, I fucking am, omigod, I am going to do you bodily harm if you don’t start either helping or fucking leave.