Remember that children’s book Alexander and the horrible, terrible, no good, very bad day? I used to love that book.
Probably because Alexander was a glass-half-empty-cynic after my own heart.
Remember how I said on Monday that I wanted to get back to blogging and get back to exercising? Well, wouldn’t you know that I came down with my usual head cold on Tuesday. Since I’m basically a wimp when it comes to being sick, I proceeded to drag myself home from work on Tuesday and curl up on the couch for some TV and recuperation instead of blogging and yoga.
About an hour into said recuperation, I was met with the screeching and scratching of an animal — probably a squirrel — in my attic. I ignored it at first, because let’s face it, this has happened before and I know Landlord S ain’t gonna do anything about it. But after awhile it got so loud that I was afraid it was actually somewhere inside the apartment. I got on top of my kitchen table (because isn’t that what you do when you fear rodents are in your house?) and called my favorite useless drunk of a Landlord.
Landlord came by after 10 minutes of coaxing and heard nothing, giving him no incentive to light a fire under his britches and call pest control. I spent the next 20 minutes in a very mentally painful conversation with the man and then proceeded to spend the next two nights at DD’s in the hopes of forgetting about my new rodent roommate.
And then I got sicker. Like unable to breathe, up until 4 a.m., sicker. I finally dragged myself home this morning, hoping maybe Landlord S. had made some progress.
Nope still screeching. And no signs of pest control stopping by. It took me no less than 10 calls to reach Landlord S. today, who claims he did call pest control.
I have my doubts. Truthfully, in the two years I’ve lived here, he has not fixed one thing I’ve asked him too. It’s as if I have battered woman’s syndrome. I keep going back because he tells me he doesn’t want to lose me, he wants me to stay, he will fix things, and I keep hoping he’ll change so I can keep paying my cheap rent in my fabulous location.
But, dealing with his ineptitude while my head is filled with snot has actually provided a moment of clarity.
I deserve better than this. I’m escaping.
I called an apartment building down the street that is a couple hundred bucks more in rent and not that much of a step up from my current place. But, it’s managed by an actual property company instead of some random dude. I’ve learned that some random dude does not a property manager make.
Needless to say, the past couple days have been negativity fests, which isn’t abnormal given my tendency to look at the glass as half empty. Knowing that this does nothing for my mental health, I’ve been trying to reverse it by thinking positively: Your cold will be better in just a couple days, at least it’s not swine flu! OR At least the squirrel’s not IN the house.
It’s sort of working. But I’m kind of ready to feel better. And then move. Because I’ll bet you $10 that that squirrel outlasts me as a tenant at the House O’ Rodent.