Caterwauling

Moving update: survived.

Old dump update: My place is being boarded up as I speak.

New place update: My realtor, who was crashing there while her condo was being renovated, did not clean as thoroughly as mom and I cleaned the dump.

And try cleaning without ventilation (i.e., with all your windows bolted shut). Mom and I are still feeling like crap between the construction dust and the cleaning fumes.

I hope that miserable twunt in the management office gives me back my deposit. The first Evil Landlady (we’re on 6-ish now) stole one of my deposits because she said it was clean but it didn’t smell good. WTF. So now if EL6 gets cute, I think Mom and I will go create a crime scene with her blood on those clean floors.

In any event, appropriately enough for Easter, I can say, “It is finished.”

Not to compare to what Jesus went through or anything. But I moved out with seven other people this weekend. So, as far as Termite Towers is concerned, we had far more casualties here in the modern day.

 Goodbye, perfect last sunset. 

Last day at the ranch. Trying to clean when the place wasn’t exactly clean and proper when I moved in. Oy vey. 

The sadness is overwhelming. I mean I have a cute new (emphasis new. Built five years ago) place waiting for me. 

But still. Gonna miss life on the A1A. 

Between inhaling face-peeling Varnish Stank at work yesterday and today having people using the tiniest drill ever to basically saw off the balcony directly above me, my lungs are shot.

The asbestos dust is now covering my clean things that are going to go to my clean apartment on Saturday.

The workers were supposed to bust out my windows and board this bitch up first. So, I’m going to call it a blessing.

A very loose use of the word blessing.

This is what my bedroom is going to look like after next week. Thank God, it’ll be when I vaporize from this joint.

For those unfamiliar with this illegal hell, that’s a corner bedroom with two former floor-to-ceiling windows.

You can see through the building. Nice eh?

These nutbags bust down the glass, come in 41 inches each way, and basically turn your 10×11 room into a closet with wet plywood walls for six months.

And why the landlady is pro-rating my future rent and re-assigning my parking space when I said I was leaving is BEYOND ME.

I tried looking for my new spot. 111. I can find 110 and 112. I have no idea where it is. Probably in the Intracoastal.

My mover just called to confirm our date for Saturday. He better get prepared to get hugged when this is all said and done. Because, so many reasons.

Last sunsets …