Scandal and vandals

I bought a five-day pass to a music festival that starts Wednesday. Too bad it’s going to be a psychotic week.

It’s been a psychotic weekend too.

Called the cops on the loud assholes upstairs. Told the landlord. The landlord told the HOA. The HOA told them to act right or eviction ahoy.

So it’s probably no coincidence that my car, that I haven’t moved since before I called the cops, has been vandalized.

I’m trying very, very hard to not lose my shit. But I went out yesterday and I could hear loud bickering in foreign languages, and I was ready to jump on people and beat them. Like, could it be the assholes upstairs?

I’ve spent my whole life correcting my family and friends when they decided to hate on a race or a nationality or their neighborhood or even their sun sign because of their past negative experiences. That doesn’t mean everyone who reminds you of them is a moron.

But I am starting to understand it. After you hire two people who turn out very similarly, let’s say, you draw parallels you didn’t want to draw. Fairly or unfairly. Generally, unfairly. But still.

And now that I have people probably screaming “death to the infidel downstairs” and tampering with my vehicle on top of it, you best fucking believe I don’t trust anyone who might be plotting my demise in front of me in a language I can’t understand.

Am I being overdramatic? Sure. Possibly. I just don’t function well when I’m angry part of the day, scared for another part and exhausted for all parts.

I’m just trying to look forward to this week’s festival, and I know Teh Crazy in the other part of my life stands to put a big dent in it.

All I can say is that a big giant yam fit is coming.

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