That does it. I'm outa here.
The stalker's been over four times already since realising I'm not at work - about once every 35 minutes on average.
A kind and understanding friend has read my blog and offered me an 'out'. So I'm out. Fuck this for a laugh.
If only there was a way to switch my stalker with the invisible woman. Then life would be perfect. But then there's no way possible that it could be my life anymore because it wouldn't be nearly fucking ironic enough. Instead I expect I'll be crushed by an articulated lorry carrying two tons of invisible ink, as I'm crossing the road and answering yet another call from the stalker...whilst stepping in dog shit.
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