February 21, 2007

• A week ago I was on the phone with my new landlady, going over a few details about the apartment.

  The conversation began because I'd called her to tell her I'd broken
  the knob off my upstairs door, in a tedious story involving a key i was
  never issued by the realtor, an inept pair of emergency locksmith /
  assrapists in the dead of the night, an extortionate amount of cash to
  pay for said services, my shattered bits of former doorknob hacked up
  all over the floor, an attempt to extort another $300 from me to
  install a new lock and keyset- hahaha!, and a declaration at one a.m.
  on my part to fuck the hell off, i'll buy my own damn doorknob at home
  depot for under thirty bucks, nice try, thanks.

  I was hoping she'd have her husband fix the door for me, and maybe even
  partially compensate my expenses since i was never given the damn key
  in the first place. Instead she decided to tell me that she's putting
  my house on the market, which, as it turns out, was her intention all
  along.  News to me.

  Thing is, when i put down the uber-wad of cash that was my deposit and
  filled out the application, i had been told that it would be a one-year
  lease. Which i certainly preferred, since i planned on settling in one
  place for some time. Then there was all the falderal around if &
  when i would sign my new lease, which ended up being  at,
  literally, the last minute. When i arrived at the realtor's office on
  the last evening in January they gave me an at-will lease to sign,
  which i did voice some concern about at the time. I was assured there
  would be no issue.It was far too late to back out anyways, nevermind
  the fact that i'd forfeit my deposit, so i signed the lease. Turns out
  I was bait-and-switched, so that the landlords would be free to boot me
  as necessary pending the sale of their property.

  The other day a realtor came by my house to introduce himself and set
  up times for prospective buyers to come view my space. Shortly
  afterwards two groups barged in on me in my pj's while i was eating
  scrambled eggs- oh, yes, did i mention the lock hasn't been fixed yet,
  either? The weekend pretty much consisted of various realtors blowing
  up my phone to alert me last-minute of their arrival, and continuously
  being interrupted by a parade of people tramping through my house and
  ogling my stuff. All while i'm trying to find the heart to unpack or
  relax, well knowing my time there might be entirely fruitless should
  any of these strangers decides to give me the heave-ho.

  My mom says the same thing happened to her once, and i shouldn't worry
  since the new people will probably let me stay. Matt has also tried to
  reassure me, at the very least reasoning that not only is my place
  optimally set up for tenants, but there also isn't anything i can
  really do about the situation, so i might as well enjoy it while i have
  it. I know he's right. I think i'm just tired of feeling decieved and
  uncertain and helpless all the time. I'm nearly always stressed out or
  snarky or exhausted lately, and it's beginning to wear thin in places.
  I just want my studio, and a sunny chair to sit in, a porch for summer
  days, and a kitchen where i can cook meals for my friends.  I want
  my apartment. i want to stay.

  So after scowling at a group of intruders on Sunday, Matt and i went
  for a walk up to Melrose for a distraction, which is about a mile north
  from my apartment and has a pretty little main street. I was born in
  Malden, and my parents lived in Melrose with me for the first few
  months of my life. I like the area. It reminds me a little of Jamaica
  Plain (prime artsy neighborhood, for you non-bostonians), if all the
  obnoxious yuppies and hipsters were summarily excommunicated, and
  instead the blue-collar natives developed a sense of creative
  expression. Most everything was quiet and buttoned up for the morning,
  so we peered in some windows, including a couple of antique shops and
  artsy craftsy gallery places. These in particular piqued my interest,
  so when we got home in the afternoon (finding the place mercifully
  empty of realtors), i looked some things up. Turns out Melrose has a
  spiffy little art scene of its own. Not too suburban, not too
  pretentious, not too insular; just a low key civic energy directed
  towards fostering local art. I can totally dig that.

  So here's the plan: I combat the negative momentum that's been plaguing
  me (ie, realtors, locksmiths, moving companies, decievers all) with the
  wealth of positive creative momentum that is my trademark. Kerri calls
  it my "Mojo". At any rate, I'm excited to get up in my studio and
  paint, now that i've scoped out this welcoming forum nearby. And
  perhaps that kind of creative territorialism will counteract the
  invasive bad juju, and make it so I get to stay in my house.

  My house!! In my neighborhood!! with my art on the walls, dammit!

  • 2:00 pm
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