I've been putting off posting or writing anything about Logic vs. Emotion, because it's hitting really close to home right now. I've tried to avoid talking about it too much on the boards, though recently it has seeped out into some things I've posted. Stuff is still
in a legal sense pending, and it's probably just not right to talk about it. As I type this, I have 4 police officers (that reads at 2 LAPD cruisers sitting in front of my house) in the back, talking to a former tenant who has lost all reason, all sensibility, and apparently, his sanity.
We've been dealing with this for months, and while there have been mis-steps on our end, for the most part we've been screwed at every turn. This guy has exhausted every opportunity, every loophole, every goddamn little thing to weasel his way back in. When I was home alone last week, the lock-out occurred. For anyone who's been involved with the process, you know that the lock-out is usually the end of the line. Usually. So, I guess he broke back in and squatted for 3 days, but I didn't know about that until Friday, after I discovered an unwelcome mat waiting outside his apartment, as I was going up to feed his fish. Poor fish.
Oh, I should tell you, an
unwelcome mat is a bed of nails screwed into the platform in front of his door.
So, after a while of the cops talking to him, trying to talk him down, getting him to undo the barricades from behind the door, and off the windows, the tenant throwing papers out the backside of his apartment, the kind officer I was dealing with nicely decided to talk me into letting him have until Sunday morning to move his belongings out, since the former tenant was so concerned. So, here comes Monday morning, and the police are back. It's all locked up again. Nothing has been moved. The tenant pretended to move from Friday to Monday. Not logical, I'll tell you that much.
So today, he's been given another (I skipped half the story because I don't wanna spend all day typing, and I probably have to talk to the cops at some point soon) 15 minutes. Which turned into an hour. Which turned into 3 hours. Which brings me to now, and I'm kinda hungry.
Grandma's gone racist. 3 birds died, 1 fish. Lots of dog poop. Mom at the doctors all the time, and we don't know what's wrong. My little 13 year old sisters are flipping me off. Had to buy new car keys, and wow are they expensive. Need new rear brakes. FAFSA hasn't gotten back to me, and I want money for school.
But, when all is said and done, my life is good. I have these problems to worry about. No matter what happens in this, I know that I have been through and survived worse. I'm in the top percentages of having a good life in this world. I am not in a war. I am not being beaten about the head. I've got food in the refrigerator. I have a car to drive. I have a job. I'm going to school. I have friends. I have family that loves me. I love my family. I'm not dying. Or at least I'm not dying soon, unless you're counting the % chance that I could die in the next 30 minutes. Hell, I'm on the internet posting about this, and someone's reading it, whether they care or not. My life is fvcking good, and that's about as logical and as emotional as it gets. I'm in a good place.
So, CP, I'm putting in a request. When you choose the next inspiration, don't pick something so close to home. I want to write for an escape.
