This may be because it is 6:00 am.
Or because I appear to be facing armies of darkness again.
News I wait on does not come.
I am upheaved by events and peoples outside of my control.
My lease is up November 3.
My erudite management is already making moves on a huge and quite possibly illegal deposit.
I find myself attempting to charm landlords before I even should just because they are in possession of property that to me is desirable, yet I have done this before and one thing I [should have] learned is, possession of wildly desirable taste does not mean someone is sane.
[This was learned the hard way watching a seemingly sane person turn on water faucets and gas appliances, and wander out into the street failing to turn any of them off.]
Yet I am considering the roommate route again because, hello, I practically live with my nieghbors now and at least if I pick someone to move in with, it might be desirable over living with people building management picks to put next to me, above me, and below me.
Oh. Also, the people who came and took the television away to fix a week ago? [Becaue it was not apparently fixed the first time? Sigh.] Today I called and said, Hello, you took the TV away a week ago and have not yet given me an estimate maybe you want to get on that? And the nice girl named Sue said she would call me back in an hour, and, doy, did not.
This means people are holding my TV hostage, not reliable, and who knows when or if they will actually attempt to fix it.
What ultimately happens here is, I go into a spiral when this many pressures are hitting me. I know I have to move. I know I have to break my [not working] TV/DVD player out. I know I have to deal with my freak building management attempting to impose illegal new charges against my deposit since they sort of probably now have figured out I am moving. And I also have to deal with fun Spidey Guy appearing regularly outside my window hanging upside down, sort of a surprise since you know, he lives with Registered Sex Offender before-they-turn-fourteen Guy and I am way above fourteen. And Sex Offender Guy standing on the street finding the only possible view into my loft from the opposite side of the street and standing there staring. And Faux Record Guy purposefully stopping me on the stairs to demand to know what “Faux Record Guy” means. [Doy, Faux Record Guy, it has not changed since the last two times you figured out I was going to be coming up the stairs and conveniently located yourself blocking my access to the door.] And Upstairs Neighbor Guy’s “dance student” girls wandering in at 4 am without keys and lilting up to the balcony above me, Let us in let us in. [Listen, at this point I do not care whether they are vampires or prostitutes, just give them freaking keys already I would like to sleep.] Meanwhile, I turn off my phone every night so bizzaro visitors do not hit the first name on the buzzer, hello, “Adams,” at all hours to demand to be buzzed in. [“A” is such a problematic first letter, sigh.] And then of course I forget to turn the phone back on, so miss calls.
The only thing saving me is, I do not lose the desire to floss and brush my teeth. This is freakishly inborn and once that forces me onwards, well, I just live with the Guild calling me up with weird cryptic messages about not working for people who want to buy my script and my agent not calling me with news I should have had weeks ago and the freak Floor Three people being out of control and —
Fuck it. I am just tired. More iron.