2014 was an odd year. On warmer days in the highlands, the neighbor’s children screamed incessantly at nothing at all. We made an attempt at finding a starter home only to discover that the down payment (with both of us paying off student loans, and one of us with a new-ish car) is a laughable sum of money that neither of us have. Weeks wasted looking for a rental house that wasn’t situated in murder/crime town. Smiled for the in-laws. Wine. Less than usual, thanks to pain medication meant for people with arthritis, issued at the last minute by a doctor more than likely trying to get me out of his office for the 6th time that year.
And then the letter. Fucking Edward Rhawn. “Dear all tenants of the house – your leases are up at the end of the month. Finally decided to renovate. During Christmas. You know, when all of you have plans to see family and friends. You have the legal limit of 30 days to leave - instead of the three months that I promised you before trying to bribe you last year with $1000 if you left early. Sorry - not really, though.” THIS motherfucker. I hope he wakes up with bedbugs, the plague, hemorrhoids, and an itchy spot that can never be relieved, no matter how much he scratches. Thanks for making us spend the holidays packing and fretting about finding a place to live. Happy holidays, fuckface.
So we moved. There is, at least, one major upside to moving to the apartment complex: no one around us has children. I don’t have to wake up to kids screaming outside my window anymore. It is blissfully silent. That makes me ridiculously happy. (Edited a few days after moving in) Short-lived. Upstairs neighbor has the loudest toddler in all history who literally screams next to the air vents, trickling down to our apartment. That kid jumped up and down so hard she knocked the fucking lamp out of the ceiling. I’m going to snap.
Recently? Two weeks ago, we also got in a car wreck. Old lady hits the hubs and I on our way to sushi. After nursing whiplash and bruises, off to the doctor again. Need x-rays and a neck-brace, apparently.
Falling down stairs, car wrecks, nasty colds, stomach viruses - whatever supernatural, all-seeing ethereal motherfucker is trying to break me down better recognize. You will NOT kill me this year. I got shit to do, so knock it off, brother.
My apologies to anyone that has been trying to get a hold of me. It has, obviously, been a very busy couple of months.
At least there's snow on the ground!
--THANKS SATAN, THAT WAS A CLOSE ONE--