I put in my month's notice a few weeks after you moved in. Initially, I told you that I probably wouldn't move until late spring/early summer. Then, outta nowhere I give you 5 weeks notice that I was moving out. Emphasis on 5 weeks. 1 week to make an adult decision, and 4 weeks to execute said decision.
You stewed on it for a weeks, guilt tripped the fuck outta me and gave me the silent treatment along with the stink-eye routine for the duration of my stay. I can see why. I forced you to put in a whole 8-10 hrs work filling 2 rooms in the house over the course of a month. Real difficult task in a hot Portland rental market for sure.
On top of that, you were then required to suffer through that whole month of barely having to deal with me. Except when I felt the need to discuss your blatant disrespect, increasingly bizarre and inconsiderate behavior. How will I ever be able to live with myself? Knowing the chaos and torture I forced you to endure for that entire month. Seeing how emotionally scarred you were by all of this only feeds the flames of my self-loathing. I'll be more than happy to help pay for the therapy you'll undoubtedly need to start the long and painful healing process.
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