OT -- Just complaining...
- From: "René" <My.Pencil@xxxxxxxxx>
- Date: Wed, 13 Sep 2006 18:16:54 GMT
I'm sitting here in my little apartment, in which I've lived 7 years. In 30
minutes or so, the apt. manager and banker will come around, snooping into
everyone's apartment. It's mandatory, and they do it every year.
Now, I moved from a beautiful 5 bedroom home, in which we'd lived for 30
years, to this little apt. Major lifestyle changes have ensued -- some
voluntary and welcome, others not! We still have a lot of our stuff in
storage and I'm going through it bit by bit. Slowly, too.
Every room in this apt. look OK. A mess, with loads of clutter, but clean
and comfortable for me. All but one room. The largest bedroom at the back
of the apt has turned into a "sort the stuff out" room. I have boxes and
boxes and piles and piles of stuff. Some to give to GoodWill, some to
repack and put back in storage, some to sell, and so on. And, ummm, you
can't get through the room to the other side because I've just dumped stuff
that I can't lift or bend over to move. Physically impossible, and I hate
having to be this way. I'm not lazy or sloppy. I just can't do it by
myself anymore.
Besides, my DS and DDL are planning on getting a house and have always made
it clear that I can live with them if I ever want to. It depends on my
finances, etc., of course, but I'll probably go with them because they have
my beautiful granddaughters! LOL So, I'm thinking that the mess in the
back room will just get bigger as I need to do more sorting and repacking.
I'll have to enlist help, and buy more boxes, and such.
So -- what's my beef? I hate the feeling of intrusion of my privacy! I'm
what my friends call, "a private person." I don't trust at the drop of a
hat and it takes me a while to make friends. But when I do, I'm a good
friend and will do anything I can for them.
I'm 58 years old, ultra-gimpy, ultra-private, and rarely stick my nose in
somebody else's business. My kids say I have hermit tendencies, and I
agree.
The notice said they will be inspecting between 1 PM and 3 PM. I've put the
dirty dishes in the sink and made sure the bathroom is "sanitary," which is
what they actually requested in the notice to everyone who lives in this
complex. I thought about putting clear plastic covers over the glass by the
sink.
I don't do recreational drugs, although I might try them if I could afford
them, knew I wouldn't get arrested, and knew who the neighberhood pusher
was. I don't drink alcohol at all. The last time I had 1 ounce of alcohol
in my mouth was when I took communion about 10 years ago. I haven't
rejoined the church here after we moved, so I'm "not allowed." But that's
another pet peeve.
I've never stalked anyone or spied upon anyone. I'm polite, quiet, and
don't complain to the management unless something is of the emergency
nature -- kitchen sink plugged up, key got stuck in the lock in the main
door. A few days ago I saw a toddler wearing only his jammies, no shoes or
jacket, run across the courtyard in the rain. The office person came and
got him. She recognized him, said he lived in the apt. right across the
hall from me. She took him home, didn't get an answer even when she yelled
for the mother, and when she went around the sliding glass door, it was
unlocked. She hollered again, then entered the apt. Some unidentified man
came in demanding to know what she was doing in there. She told him and he
said he had been out in the parking lot looking for the mother. Mom was at
school, and thought her BF was babysitting. The office lady left the baby
there and went back to the office to call the mom at her school. Right
after she left, I heard the man beating the baby, like it was his fault he
escaped. I called the police stat, but don't know what happened after they
got there. That's when I interfere and sic the cops on anyone.
Anyway, I'm sitting here feeling affronted and angry at having my privacy
abused. And I admit to being embarrassed about the back room.
And if I have to sit here and stew for 2 hours, I'll be relieved as well as
mad if they don't show up!
René
.
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