It’s amazing how much one’s life can change over the course of a month. Unfortunately, the changes I refer to aren’t pleasant by any means. But before I get to my sad little sob story, let me get something out of the way:
HAPPY BIRTHDAY, Black Musings!
My blogs first birthday has come and gone. My original intention was to get the blog all
dressed up, take it out for a fun afternoon on the town, and maybe bake it a
cake. Alas, it’s anniversary passed by without notice, due to aforementioned
sob story, which I will get to now.
I currently sit in a cramped, muggy little apartment in
Everett, far away from the posh by comparison townhouse I was living in a
little more than a month ago. How I transitioned from there to here is a sordid
little affair brought on by my former landlord, who shall henceforth be
referred to as Assface.
Rent had just been paid when Assface delivered unto us a
polite, if coldly, worded letter informing us that our lease was up on the
following month, June 15th, and he was not allowing us to renew. No explanation was given, and when we
inquired, he basically said, “fuck you, that’s why.”
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| "Peace out, bitches!" |
With that, Assface merrily skipped away and left us with the
frightening prospect of being homeless in a month’s time; none of us had any
money saved up for such an event, and trying to find suitable accommodations in
so little time didn’t exactly engender hope.
The next few weeks were grim. No one likes moving; the act
of packing up all of your shit only to then unpack it has to be one the most
tedious, morale-crushing activities known to the civilized world. Next to doing
taxes, of course.
Even worse, we were having no luck finding any townhouses on
such short notice; we were facing rejection after rejection, and it was all due
to a specific member of our household. An immense, furry member who likes to drool
all over the carpet and bark at the neighbors. It would seem that most
landlords take issue with large, Labrador-Rottweiler hybrids running around
eating people and ripping apart cars.
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| The face of a killer. |
Finally, with no prospects left, we had to break down and
look at apartments. Apartment living is not so bad if you’re like me. I don’t
have a lot of shit to lug around; cloths, books, and my portable electronic
devices are all I really have. I’ve never been that big into acquiring stuff; I’m not all that materialistic compared to your average American. I don’t have a driving obsession
with buying useless shit that I don’t really need; all of my possessions fit
neatly in this tiny room I find myself in. I guess it’s because I never really
see myself settling down anywhere any time soon; rather than planting roots, I’m
a leaf on the wind.
That being said, apartments are bad if you are like my
roommate. She has entirely too much stuff; while certainly not a hoarder, she
does have those kinds of tendencies. Which is why we find ourselves in our
current predicament. This apartment, this minuscule two bed room domicile , is
quite literally packed floor to ceiling with boxes, shelves, furniture, and
appliances. We have managed to carve out a narrow walkway which allows us to
move about, but it’s by no means comfortable. Calling my living conditions
cramped is an understatement; it would be like saying Godzilla is “kinda big.”
Walking around the apartment is nerve-wracking, and downright dangerous. One
never knows when some errant box might decide it wants to make my head its new
resting place.
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| I may need a few of these. |
In addition to avalanche dangers, I seem to have become a
tad bit claustrophobic; I can’t spend too much time in the apartment without
some feelings of panic; it’s always hot and crowded, and the air is stuffy no
matter how much of a breeze is circulating from the perpetually open windows.
So, in a nut shell, I'm stuck in a 10 month lease with a roommate who has entirely too much shit, in a ghetto part of town, paying a little more than I was at our previous place. Can we say "winning?"
