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July 13, 2009

“No, you can’t call my mother a bitch.  That’s going too far.”  I turned around and walked toward the door.  He had only been talking for an hour.
 “Okay, well you can just go to hell with her, then.”  “Okay, thank you.” 
“You’re a little bitch, too, you know.  All women are.” “Thank you.”

This visitation came too soon after the last one.  It’s only been thirteen days.  He was proving that R could not make him stay away.  An hour later I heard something about “tell your bitch mother” and I looked at him like—I don’t think so.