Sunday, November 9, 2003

Windows fused shut by paint and age, noisy radiators that refuse to be turned off, temperamental electricity–the list continues to grow, gentle reader!

Perk #21: I don’t know what I did to deserve this, but the past few days have seen–or smelt, to be more accurate–something ripe outside my apartment complex. It’s either trash gumbo, aged dog shit, or a corpse. Fate would think it simply hilarious to combine all three, so I’m not going near the dumpster anytime soon.

Perk #22: doubtless the only real perk of the bunch, a super-comfy chair recently arrived in my studio by way of Neatfreak and One-Woman Times. Thanks, guys! They seem to think they’re making both my living arrangement and me more civilized, but this is simply delusional. A vacuum cleaner, I am told, is next on the list of things to get. Too bad I’m fine with rolling around my studio and being the vacuum, collecting dust bunnies and bits of hair on my person as I go. I also like to lick linoleum floors circa late 60s, early 70s.

Perk #23: my complex sits right across the street from a “care” institute for “special” people. While most simply mill around quietly and make occasional trips to the convenience store and our dumpsters, one fellow roots himself to the park bench and cackles at passersby. This is when he’s not busy yelling at himself. There, there.

Should I move? I should move.