You're Just A Middle-Class, Middle-Aged Sh!t

I am not well, folks. I haven't had a good night's sleep since last week. Funny how the fire department showing up after your place was on fire will disturb your rest and put you on edge. Sunday night I tried to watch a movie with the lights dimmed, but the mice took this as their invitation to playtime and started crawling around. Apparently the vermin don't enjoy the cold weather either, because every night this week those little fuckers have been crawling around inside my fortress of solitude. Last night they tried to knock on the boiler door to get me to let them out. Just as I lay down to sleep, I heard the schssst schsst thunk thunk thunk of a mouse or rat moving around. I threw a slipper at the door and the rat bonked the door one more time and then was silent. However, I was so wound up that I knew I wouldn't get to sleep so I took a Tylenol PM. When the first dose didn't work, I took a second. Once I fell asleep, I had a horrible nightmare that I was dating the Whatever again, which was TERRIFYING. Now I'm at work, but I don't think the Tylenol has worn off because I'm still groggy and my limbs feel heavy.

I hate my apartment. I hate the realtor who leased it to me. I hate the landlord for turning the basement into a rat-infested hellhole of a human dwelling and having the audacity to charge what he does for that piece of shit place. I hate that I have six months left on my lease. I've put in a call to my work-counseling line to get some advice on what my legal options are for ending the lease early and I'm hoping to hear from someone today. I don't know where I'll go, but I'm sure as hell not staying in that apartment. I'm going to lose my mind if I don't get some damn sleep. It would almost be better to commute from home for a month or two and figure out my options than live in that vermin-riddled, fire-prone shithole.

I'm going to pass out on my desk now.