The package—it’s back!

It’s fucking back and I don’t know how.

I moved back into my apartment today after the police couldn’t find anything. They told me, with a tone telling me the opposite of their words, to call if I noticed anything strange.

I walked in and there it was, sitting on top of my coffee table as if it had always been there. I didn’t know what to think. At first I thought the cops had left it. But as I got closer, I recognized the shape and size, and the unmarked paper-wrapping.

So I can’t be rid of this thing, apparently. I threw it away in a dumpster for crying out loud! I fucking watched the garbage truck empty the dumpster. The package should be in a landfill right now. But, here it is.

I’m sick of this. I have to know now what this is all about. I’m going to open the damn thing. Hopefully, once I see what’s inside, I’ll be able to end this odd chapter of my life.

I’ve spent the last five minutes working up the courage to open it. I thought writing this blog post would help me think through it, as well help me vent some of my frustration.

Well, it’s not going to open itself. Here I go. I just hope there’s not a bomb or anthrax in it.

I’m opening the package now.