If I Could Find One Good Person. [Journal 7-13-17]

Chimene Badi – Le Blues.

I’ve thought, for years, if I could find one good person, I’d be set for life. Of course, that means more than being moral: they’d have to also possess my comprehension of human nature, and general intellectual capacity. Landlord is not that, but he’s still a decentish man. On my way to work today [I work early afternoon-to-midnightish], I texted Landlord, asking him to be my rental reference and about another matter. That matter was selling my truck to his father, whom previously expressed interest.

As fortune would have it, he then planned to come to the house today, hoping to talk with me. But I was at work when he texted me back. I told him I could take a break and talk to him. So he came, we talked. Keep in mind: I just got this job – Landlord being aware that I haven’t been working due to depression, and that unemployment was a complaint from the roomies. Not that my being home all the time influenced them in any real way, they’re just looking to cry.

But the point is: on the day we all discussed the house-issues, I’d told Landlord that I intended to get work, and move out ASAP, because I didn’t see a positive outcome to staying. So, Landlord shows up at the job, I’m in full attire, we talk. Seems we’re on the same page: my roomies are fucking nuts. Course, not much to be done about it, given that the law pretty zealously guards tenants; they have to cross the line into action, not mere irrationality and deception, before they can be legally evicted. Course, that means they could fucking murder me before they can be evicted. Thanks, government. Oh, and thanks for letting my fucking mother raise me. And all the other shit. You completely deserve the taxes you take without compensating for the burdens you’ve placed on me.

Anyway, Landlord and I talk. I tell him I’m moving ASAP, and will keep him informed. He tells me I’ll be pro-rated, and give me as much of the deposit back as possible. Essentially: he’s aware I’m being fucked, and is somewhat sorry about it. Also, his father remains interested in the truck, but details have to be worked out. Talking, we came to agree on the roomies behaving irrationally; I thus took the risk in telling him what I think is actually going on: Stoner is hyper-paranoid due to high marijuana usage, and being encouraged by Sociopath. I also told him that Sociopath is likely a hoarder, and “he seems manipulative.”

I didn’t say outright that he was a sociopath, as that might get some blowback. But he knows they’re being fucky.. The law’s simply protecting those scumbags. Funny thing is: Landlord tells me he’s gonna be increasing their rent, getting harder about leases, house rules, etc, when I’m gone. *snicker* None of this fixes my current dilemma, of having to waste my time and energy moving out, because some fucking psychos got their feelings hurt. But it still makes me feel better; not because they have to pay for their behavior, but because I’m being treated at least somewhat fairly. That’s all I ever fucking wanted out of life.

Oh, another funny thing: once Landlord and I talked everything over, I told him I had to get back to work, so I didn’t look bad. He keeps talking. Well, sous chef comes outside to ask if I’m coming in – I apologize to Sous, clap Landlord on the shoulder and say “my landlord” while looking at Sous. Sous is native Mexican, barely speaks English. Seemingly good guy. Landlord is first-generation Mexican-American. Without going into details: them seeing each other may have boosted my merit with each of them. Sometimes, I don’t get completely shit on all the time.

What the fuck do normal people’s lives look like? I honestly can’t believe most people make it past 20, if my life is at all indicative of the norm. Which I know its not. Oh well, I could have been born into a life that forced me to be a child soldier/prostitute. As much as I’d enjoy complaining about that burden, I don’t think it would be worth the hassle.

As for my coworkers behaviors toward me: seems to be going well. I think what ultimately makes native Mexicans and I get along, is their personally having experienced hardship, at the hands of bad people, and accordingly having a better sense of me being a cool fucking guy. Unlike the spoiled little bitches I live with, whom get emotional when they’re expected to keep their fucking word, show a rudimentary amount of respect, and generally act like sane people – drains on society, who’s greatest contributions will be their deaths.

My mood’s good though. Job seems to be going well. Landlord seems to  favor my side. I might actually get the money together to move out by the end of the month – and if not, I can prolly tolerate these psychos another month. Still pissed, but hey, what the fuck can my broke ass do about it? If fucking quality of character had even it’s remote value, I’d have options. But no, I’m born to an age of savagery. Fuck you, humanity; you better hope your gods don’t exist, because some of them actually value fairness, and you owe me big.


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~ by Louis Naughtic on August 3, 2017.

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