so, yesterday i called my landlord. i told him about the leaky gutter... a little kitchen problem... and, uh -- oh yeah! -- an afterthought [riiight] about the amateur dj next door. i'd never called about any human relations problems since i've lived here, so i wasn't sure how the landlords would react. would they care? as it turns out, he [i picked the nicer landlord] sounded genuinely concerned about it. landlord said he would try and talk to the dj about it when he came by to see about the gutter.

i came home from work today to a surprisingly quiet evening. had he already come by? un/fortunately, it had stopped raining so i couldn't tell if the gutter was fixed or not. and then it started. oh, yes... it started.

it's not just the bass; oh no no no, my friends. what's amusing -- and by amusing, i mean bordering on ridiculously hysterical -- is the stomping that now occurs. mind you, the floors in this triplex are not solid. you can generally hear footsteps; an obviously natural occurence, really quite faint, but there nonetheless. you can tell when people are walking around, you can tell when people are running to the phone, and you can most certainly tell when people are stomping their feet like a very angry and very purposeful six-year-old to annoy the neighbors.

it is only by the grace of God that i am shaking my head and laughing at this situation. a month ago i would have marched on over and damn near strangled him. eventually i realized that getting angry was simply not a good use of my time or energy. now i choose to let any justice be handled by the landlords [who are the only people that have any physical influence and authority over him], i choose to ignore his silly games and tirades, and i choose to laugh.

of course... i don't claim to be an angel. the only thing worse than having one's temper tantrums met with an equally vengeful rage, is to have them met with a gleeful and unnerving silence. at least, it would be for me.

mwahaha.

so i'm standing in line at walmart [which by the way... why do they have upwards of thirty registers yet only open two??], minding my own business. i decide to pass the time by listening to and deleting old cell phone messages. leaning forward on my cart, i'm on the second of fourteen [!] when i start feeling edgy. i look to my right and am startled to find that the girl behind me is uncomfortably close, reading a tabloid. do you really need to stand at the front of your cart right now? we've got at least a ten minute wait at this point. go read about alien babies at the other end of your cart!, i plead telepathically. i inch forward, hoping that it is imperceptible to Tabloid Girl, but no. she inches forward further and, presumably, is listening to rachel's christmas message right along with me. i keep looking back to ensure that Oblivious Girl is indeed awkwardly close, to make certain that she is not going through my purse, and to hope there is an off chance that she will recognize that i would prefer her a little farther than five inches away. i make eye contact with the girl in front of me, briefly hoping to find someone that sees and understands my current pain. but she is busy with her parents and her [their] purchase of exercise equipment with ridiculously flexible models on its packaging. i continue to check on Cart Girl, Tourette's-like, as i continue to delete messages, speculating whether she can hear them or not. i finally give up, busying myself with unloading my cart. i'm just starting when the register beside us opens for business; Close Girl darts over like a moth to light.

i feel like i need to wash.

over the holidays, my supervisor [are they really supervisors if they don't know what you actually do?] decided that it was of utmost importance to deposit every check we received in my absence, before the end of the year. only two checks were handled correctly [we have five separate checking accounts]. if you don't know what the checks are for and you've never watched me handle a deposit and you don't know what the hell you're doing JUST GO BACK TO YOUR OFFICE INSTEAD OF CREATING A THREE-HOUR HEADACHE FOR YOUR FINANCIAL MANAGER.

i've closed my door so that i don't run down the hall and kill him.

the new has come, and the old makes a return visit.

recently a friend has been asking me about past experiences with my old church. it's easy to give the quick answer [moved, helped, left]; it's another thing altogether when someone inquires about specifics. how do i condense two years of experience and one year+ of healing into a coherent and concise explanation? how do i do it objectively? justly? fairly? how do i do it without crying?

the older i become, the more i realize how much our past affects us in our present. it affects us sometimes unexpectedly, and it affects us without our permission. it affects us whether we like it or not, and it affects us when we think it shouldn't affect us anymore. and it can affect us, in one way or another, for the rest of our lives.

i'm still trying to make sense of my past. until i find clarity, i will find hope that in weakness is strength.