Tuesday, September 6, 2011

Ob La Di, Ob La Da

Dear friends,

Please forgive the lack of regular postings for the past couple of weeks; my life has been in a state of upheaval, to put it lightly. To keep you abreast of what's been going on, I'll give you the down and dirty.

First off, Nathan and I broke up, which was apparently a more significant blow to me than to him, and is, in fact, the second time I was prepared to commit to something bigger than a relationship where we live apart and see each other a few times a week, but the dude was not wanting to be in a relationship. At least with the one before Nate he seemed genuinely sad and didn't come off as arrogant or speak to me like a child.

DISCLAIMER: The second part is the story as I remember it. I have been wrong before, but I have some reasons (unposted) as to thinking that I'm more right than wrong in this situation.

Second off, I have been battling some rather unusual apartment circumstances. On August 20 (or very close to that date), I received an offer from close family friend, Sarah Brown, to move into her beautiful apartment in Greenfield. Despite my lack of lease, the mouse "pandemic," the communal bathroom, and the lack of sun that comes from living in a basement, I was somewhat hesitant to take it, because I genuinely like(d) my Montague landlords. But ultimately the deal was too good to pass up, so I informed my landlord, Tim, that I would be moving out in mid-September.

"The end of September?" he had requested, hoping for some time to find a tenant, and I obliged. Besides which, it seemed that I would then have a nice, leisurely move.

After showing the apartment a handful of times, including to two people who just randomly showed up without calling, Tim rented the apartment to a young woman who was going to start GCC in the fall. Tim approached me and asked when the earliest I could leave was. I explained to him that the current tenant in my new apartment would not be out until the 10th or 11th of September, and that I could very likely be out the following weekend. Sure, it would mean a birthday move, but it would also mean not living in a basement.

Because New Girl wanted to be into the apartment as close as possible to GCC's starting, Tim informed me a few days later (August 27th or so) that she would be living in the upstairs guest room. That meant that we would be sharing a bathroom, which I was not thrilled about, but what the hey. And, in my opinion, my obliging nature went well beyond the necessary because, even as I said the following, I felt my hands move to cover my mouth and stop the words from pouring out, "If she needs to," I said, "she can store some of her boxes downstairs while I'm moving out."

Anyway, it gets to be Tuesday, August 30. I go to see Nate. We break up. I go home, devastated. I start out to work the next morning, more devastated. Stay until about 11:00 a.m., and then take the rest of the day off because I'm such a hot mess. I call my father and his girlfriend, Stephanie, and they invite me over, but I stop at home first to get my trusty teddy bear, Zephyr. On my way out the driveway, tears staining my face, Tim stops me and blurts out a stream of conscious blurb consisting of the following: "You need to get your cats out ASAP. I'll pay for them to go to a boarding house or whatever." Aside: I have a 15-year old cat with renal kidney malfunction and two other cats who will most certainly NOT live in a boarding shelter. "Carlos is pissed about the third cat. New Girl is allergic to cats. We're getting a cleaning lady into clean. New Girl is moving in ASAP. YOU can feel free to stay in the upstairs bedroom."


Of course, I'm a big fucking mess, so I just start crying, and Tim rubs my back, which just makes me tense up and want to lunge at his jugular.

So I drive to my father's where I learn that the current tenant of my new apartment has conveniently decided not to move out. With the support of the Greenfield Housing Authority, his lack of rent payment for four months doesn't seem to be a big issue, but Sarah and her property manager, Dave, are working to get him evicted. Unfortunately, that takes at least two months. They're also not above bribing him.

Dave the Property Guy is generous enough to offer out an apartment he has, but he wants first and last in a place I may stay in only for two weeks. Plus it's tiny, not the apartment I wanted, I know I'm whining, but dammit, seriously, what the fuck?

My aunt Anne generously offered me up a room in her house, though I feel I've infiltrated perhaps slightly too much. However, the rent is good, and I'm completely able to do chores and maybe tie up some loose ends that she hasn't been able to get to.

Over labor day weekend, and on the Wednesday and Thursday I took off from work for devastational reasons, I moved, resulting in the heaviest things having to be moved last and in Monday's downpour. After deciding what I can live with out for two weeks, two months, however long, I moved the rest of my stuff in a storage facility and my uncle's basement, where very fittingly I found a dead mouse.

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