f we didn't have the
most perfect child on earth, I think we'd be walking disasters.
I think I'm resigned to working here for the rest of my life. I can't
even count the number of companies who have talked to me for a few minutes
about a potential opening, and then never called me back.
Our apartment has turned into a total disaster. Literally.
Suddenly, the people around us have all gone insane. There were actually
cops outside last night -- I think there was some kind of fight going on.
Perhaps worst of all, our bathroom is falling apart. There was
water pouring from our ceiling last night, enough to leave a two-inch-deep
puddle on the floor. It'll probably be weeks until the maintenance
dudes come to fix it, knowing the reputation our complex has. We've
been trying to look for somewhere else to live, but no dice.
One of my co-workers just gave his notice. He was just about the
last bastion of sanity in the whole office, and now he has used his sanity
to finally get out of there. Although it should get pretty interesting
in the next few weeks, which might actually make things fun for a change,
in the long run, this is a very bad omen.
Of course, so is your bathroom ceiling caving in.
The funny thing is, my parents have been around to watch all of these
disasters happen. And although we ahve complained to them before
about how we don't like living out here, I think, if nothing else good
has come out of all of this, they finally understand where we are coming
from.
