05/11/2013

 I desperately needed another pair of work shoes (I have one pair of black heels that are in fine condition, but I keep those aside in case I need nicer shoes for a hearing or something) and I was browsing at K-Mart (I am such a scrooge when it comes to spending money on stuff like that).  M suggested that I stump up some decent money for a decent pair of shoes, considering my recent foot problems (calluses and the cellulitis, which was not related to my shoes, but still a problem).  I begrudging agreed, on the basis that we had $325 in gift cards for Westfield and nothing really that we need to spend them on.  We’d been using them in dribs and drabs to pay for large gifts or bulk purchases.  So, we browsed and I finally picked a decent pair.  There was a sale on, 30% off, so they ended up costing $80.  Still far too much, in my book, but they are lovely shoes, comfortable and with a sensible heel.  I’m sure I will think it’s a great idea come next Friday when I kick them off after after the week and my heels don’t feel like they’ve been ground to the bone.  Plus, it’s not like I paid any money out of my own pocket for them, so why should I care?

Because it just seems outrageous to spend so much money on shoes. 

Mother’s day picnic tomorrow.  Not looking forward to it, really, but I am thinking I might take my knitting and just sort of hang around and make my appearance.

For those who wish to know about my recent dramas, here they are in point form.  I don’t particularly want comments about this, because I am struggling with anxiety right now and am trying to just put this past me, now that I have managed to process it all and start to get over it.  However, I do realise that I have quite a few dedicated readers who may not be able to read through this and NOT express their indignation.  Either way, here it is:

Wednesday:

My landlord talks to my neighbours next door about their dogs, following me making a complaint about the entire yard being strewn with dog shit because they weren’t picking up after their dogs.  The neighbours deny having the dogs, the landlord comes back to me, I say that they are absolutely lying to her, the dogs are there all day, every day. Landlord goes back to them and talks about it, tells them they can’t have dogs there at all, so she better not hear about them again. 

Thursday:

I go out to my car and all four tyres are flat, and there is a muddy graffiti tag on the bonnet.  It is 6am, and I am not at all surprised.  I had had a feeling for a few weeks that something like that would happen because my neighbours are just trouble.  I roll the car around the corner and out of sight of the building, and proceed to call my brother and my mother to arrange a lift to work and what to do about getting the tyres looked at.

The tyres are only let down, and not slashed and I am able to collect the car that afternoon, although I am out of pocket $90 for towing fees. 

I speak to my landlord about it and she is disgusted.  She is trying to find grounds to evict these tenants and we agree that I will text her each time they disturb the peace and she will send them an eviction notice.  

My weasel neighbour approaches M while M is walking the dog and spins a story about the same thing happening to his car and how he doesn’t know who did it.  His story changes from past to present tense and back again, and changes as to which of his cars was affected on which day.  The main thing to remember is this:  I left at 6am that morning, and when I got home that evening, before the weasel got home, I parked my car away from the apartment block.  The weasel has not seen me or my car the entire day, so how did he know there was something wrong with it?

Friday:

My brother (we’ll call him JB) is still furious about the tyres, and now so are my meathead cousins, their meathead friends, and THEIR meathead cousins.  I may be quite and unassuming, but it goes to show that you just never know who you are dealing with.  I may not be furious about it (any more) but the rest of my family are slightly unhinged and are now out to seek revenge.

JB has been doing drive-bys past my apartment block and sitting out the front for periods of time.  On Friday he sees my neighbour and a couple of his little friends working on a car out the front (right next to where my tyres were let down).  He stops and proceeds to have a little chat to them, whereby he doesn’t lay any blame, but talks about what happened to my car and says in a roundabout way that there are plenty of people in this town looking for the idiot who did it (based on the graffiti) and that he wouldn’t want to hear about anything like that happening again.  My weasel neighbour visibly pales, his friends aren’t too worried, and my brother is satisfied. 

That’s the brief version. There is more, but to be honest, I am just exhausted by the whole thing and just need to get it behind me.  And yes, I did file a police report. 

So since then my anxiety has just been through the roof.  I barely ate for three days and my weight plummeted spectacularly.  Of course, being slightly overweight, I was still chubby, but it was noticeable and I did enjoy it.  Sick, huh?  Anyway, I have eaten alright today, and expect tomorrow I will be back to normal.

So, let’s sum up my shitty week:

I got cellulitis
My boss had to tell me my fly was open (and I’d been wandering around for a good 5 hours with it that way)
The thing with my tyres
AAAAND … I got fired from my transcription job.

That’s right. BOOTED.  I wasn’t making the minimum grade, unfortunately.  I am disappointed, of course, and I feel pretty deflated, but I have bigger problems right now, so I can’t let myself be too upset.  It was a good experience, anyway. 

Now.  I’m cold, so I am going to have a warm shower.  Ernie stinks, so he will be dismayed to realise that it’s shower time for him, too.  Our shower is over the bathtub, so poor Ernie trots around my feet in the bathtub, eventually squeezing himself into a position where he can sit on my feet, directly under the water.  He’s such a good dog.  He’ll let me wash him, he’ll stand in the tub, dripping, while I dry myself, then I’ll wrap him in his towel and give him to M to dry him off properly.