first Massachusetts, now the washing machine

I really like my little house. I say little because it's a 2-story, 1 bedroom HOUSE. Tiny but cute. It's the right price, we make due with the lack of space (think NYC), we can walk everywhere we want to go, all our friends live around us, and we have the awesome green space of Hancock Golf Course right across the street! Still, with all that going for it, I feel like it might be time to move. Just when I fall in love with my little house for the 100th time, my Mr. Meanie property manager makes me realize for all the demands of the owners/manager, I should be paying a mortgage, not rent.

About 1 1/2 years ago they put in a new washing machine. Last week it broke. It filled itself with water, then stopped. No agitation, no rinse, no spin. Nothing. Early in the season, the oven had quit heating up. I never mentioned this, because we rarely use it, but combined with the much loved washer, it was just TOO much. I sent a very nice email. They came and left me a letter. They were going to fix the oven but not the washer. Why not, you say? Well obviously, I've overloaded it, so it's my fault it's broken, therefore I can pay to have it fixed. Huh. How would they know whether or not I've overloaded? For the record, I'm pretty sure I was doing the washing when Mr. Meanie was in short pants, so I think I know what a full load looks like. So here's my beef: I'm expected to keep up the yard, spend my own money to water the weeds and flower beds; keep the place clean (duh); be responsible for any and all extermination needs; and responsible for all appliance malfunctions (except apparently for the oven). I am NOT however, allowed to paint the peeling & dirty walls, refinish the shitty floors, store stuff in my carport or make any "alterations" to the property at all. Of course they're not going to do it either.

So my question is, why am I renting? I've got all the responsibilities of a homeowner. I'm not entirely sure what the owner's expect, and the property manager is a bully that speaks through emails & notices tacked on the door. Come July, I just might be driving a u-haul.

finding solace in peanut butter crackers

It's been a hell of a couple of weeks. I am searching for my center - the place where natural disasters, the washing machine, the toilet, my elbow, TEA, a particular Dean of a Graduate School, Time Warner Cable and job ennui don't matter. If feels very far away and tears are just below the surface. Tears that never fell after the shell shock of New York, now won't ebb in the light of Haiti. Every news photo brings back memories of a different time, too horrible to acknowledge in that moment. Knowing that the suffering of a people is something that must be endured, because honestly, what other choice is there? The option of giving up doesn't exist. To give up is to abandon those smaller or weaker than yourself. All of it will eventually take a toll on the ones who don't have time to grieve. And we, the others, can only stand by helplessly, wringing our hands. And I can only continue the struggle, no matter the cost.

Far away

Tonight, I've become the worst possible version of myself. Sad, morose, stressed, lonely. I sent my child to a party without me - I couldn't bear being the only single amongst all the couples. Too bad the dream of being with someone always seems to clash with the reality. But tonight, I wish he was here.

Pray for Haiti