i'm coming down off a homicidal high.
my neighbors should now all know the depths of my abilities to utter, nay, screech profanities.
a couple of days ago, i thought a folded piece of paper i had left on my kitchen counter had become possessed. no, it really did freak me out for a couple of seconds. i couldn't figure out how it was moving all on its own. then i thought perhaps there was a creature in there. oh wait, no. how could i not have deduced it immediately?
the dishwasher in 206 was leaking and dripping into my apartment. no new news there. except it was in a different location than the previous two rainstorms and was at a very slow velocity.
of course today, as i sat innocently tap-tap-tapping away at my faithful and trusty keyboard with my arms wrapped lovingly around my fragrant gingerbread-infused folger's latte, i hear the old familiar sounds of a deluge come to wreak havoc on my day.
i run immediately in to the powder room (don't worry, i was wearing shoes this time to prevent another round of bloodshed) and noisily throw the rice paper floorscreen, vacuum cleaner, clean cat litter, etc, to safety whilst cursing up a storm more robust than the one coming from my ceiling. familiar with the routine as i am, i cuss my way to put on real clothing so that i can huff and puff up to the second floor and bang on my neighbor's door.
no answer. i think he's become afraid of me. he should already know there's a problem since i had already mentioned it to him loud enough to hear while i was still downstairs.
i retreat. i cannot deal with the wet litter and cat shit. so i page for an emergency. then i leave a hostile voice mail for the manager. that's right. me. hostile.
i've just learned that serious anger and threat of a landlord coming to call makes me go into cleaning mode. i also learned that when you pull a floorscreen out of the bathroom, it does an adequate job of blocking the apartment from the viewpoint of the door. i'm considering leaving it there.
the manager actually did come by this time. i find it interesting how, even though they know your day and your apartment has just turned to wet cat shit, they will still start off by asking: "how are you?"
if i could be a better angry bitch, i would've asked for lower rent (lease is up next month). but no. i feel evil for being nasty to people who can't really help what's going on.
now my whirlwind of obscenities and threat of physical implosion has settled into a light headache. and i think i need to make amends with the catshit machines since i'm sure they thought i was about to kill them instead of the landlord.
may your days be unfilled with the fragrance of feline dung.
ps: thank you loither for talking me down from my ledge and i hope your leg is feeling better.