Sigh.

I asked my friend Red if I could stay at her place sometimes, or even just move in with her until I can find a place. She said she wasn’t home but would respond in a bit.

Soon after that, our mutual friend T Facebook messaged me saying “Red says you’re looking for a new place?”

I assumed he was offering sympathy and maybe knew of a place for me to live. That would seem logical, right? And I know T and his wife live in an apartment with a constantly revolving lineup of roommates, so maybe there was an opening. Anyway I was like “Yeah, my psycho neighbour is making my life miserable and I’m basically having panic attacks every day.” I told him that her main issue seems to be with being able to hear Dickface the Kitten running around.

T said “Oh well that won’t work for us because we have cats, too. But my friend Carolyn might be interested.” He asked me a bunch of questions about whether I’m on a lease here and stuff like that.

“Is Carolyn living in a place and needs a roommate, or looking for a place from scratch?” I asked. I don’t want to live with a roommate but to be honest if someone needed one right now I might move in just to get out of here. But T said she’s living with her parents right now and looking for a place from scratch. I’m not up for that. I’m already not looking like a good bet to property management companies, financially. I’d only drag another person down. I’d only be able to get into a roommate situation by a tenant deciding to let me move in, without me being on the lease.

But then T asked if he and his wife could come see my place sometime. He hadn’t been trying to offer help. He’d been trying to vulture my apartment. And I’m just so angry that “Oh so what’s happening with your apartment?” was his first response to hearing that my life was going to shit and I was miserable. I also can’t understand why he’s still interested in the place when I told him in no uncertain terms how shitty the neighbours are.

In truth, it could be cool to have someone ready to take over the apartment. Maybe T would be willing to move in. Maybe he’ll like my orange living room and not ask me to paint it back to white. And this would, I think, legally allow me to get the fuck outta here without giving a full two months’ notice. But T handled his overture really, really badly.

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