Friday, December 01, 2006

Renting is depressing. A huge mortgage is depressing too, I know, but renting is depressing and degrading, so it beats out the stress of home ownership by a lot. I could elaborate and explain my humiliation and despondance, but I'd rather throw around colorful language and other sentence enhancers like F-this! and F-that! And F-it all! Our new landlord doesn't want to admit the plumbing here is shoddy, instead he tries to tell us "how to flush a toilet." The garbage disposal has clogged twice and he asks, "Did you put anything in it?" F-ing A! And we are still answering to Bob, the Treehouse landlord, because he wants us to pay for the replacement of the very F-upped carpeting that we put up with for three years and will be torn out when he rebuilds in 6 months...

You know, this isn't a half bad house and I like it better than an apartment or a trailer or a mud hut with a cardboard door, but I can't help feeling very unhappy. I feel a constant weight knowing that I may ruin something that isn't mine, simply by existing. At any moment the kids may stain the carpet or put a hole in a wall, or the landlord may be at the front door, again, asking to come in to adjust the sprinkler timer. It puts me in a state of constantly facing the fact that I am not good... not good at maintaining an orderly "drop by anytime" house... not good at flushing toilets... not good at accepting my lot in life and bucking-up... not good.

Can you picture me unpacking more boxes, decorating for Christmas and settling in to our new home?

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