Okay, not really. And I would never wish that on her anyway because I am a zen-filled all embracing, lover of all life. And also I’m scared of Karma and what it will do to me when I am sleeping, or eating too fast.
But we’re done with her!!! We’ve packed up, moved out, and moved on!!
Oh sure, I will harbour shreds of resentment towards her for, right in the middle of our move, insisting on inspecting the apartment, to make sure I wasn’t stealing anything of hers…
- By the way, how is she not entirely embarrassed to have left the place full of her crap for almost 2 years? How, instead of being apologetic for promising since 2010 to remove her piles and piles of boxes and broken furniture and water damaged antiques and shattered mirrors and… and… and… from the house, can she face me and accuse me of plotting to steal her worthless mouldy crap??
Aaaaand.. deep cleansing breath.
Sure I’m a little confused by her running outside, just as the last of my furniture is loaded on to the truck, to give me a gift of matching antique figurine lamps…
Was this her way of calling a truce? Apologizing for implying that I’m a thief? Sneaking video cameras into my new apartment? A symptom of her personality disorder?
And then, I was absolutely pushed to my limit when, on the following day, despite being crippled with agonizing back-pain – out of the goodness of my heart, I returned to the apartment to clean it for her before she moved in – and the warthog threw a fit because Thing 1 wouldn’t be moved out until 8am the following morning.
“Your lease is over today! You have to get out today!!!!” She shrieked from her cast iron perch over the door.
“Everyone in the province has until noon July 1st to vacate their apartments.”
“You moved yesterday! Why didn’t you move your daughter yesterday?”
“Her apartment isn’t free yet… July 1st is tomorrow.”
“Why didn’t you move her stuff to your house yesterday and then move it to her new place on the first??”
“Because, wait. Is that a real question?”
We argued for some time and I knew I was perfectly right but was quickly losing faith that the troll wouldn’t go through Thing 1′s belongings, or even throw them out on the street, after we left.
Miraculously, Other Jen was able to get Ross-The-Amazing to call in part of his fleet of furniture trucks to rush over and load up Thing 1′s boxes and furniture, and store it in his warehouse overnight until the next morning when she would have access to her new place.
“Great news!” I announced, turning to the side, hiding the rage pulsing through my jaw and temples, “a truck will be here in two hours to empty the rest of the apartment, so you’ll be able to move in this afternoon, after all.”
Within 15 minutes, the beast was heaving things down her stairs and into my way.
And within an hour she was bellowing from the other end of the house, accusing me of “destroying” her bath tub.
I stared down her pudgy arm and trembling finger to the discoloration at the bottom of the tub. And after a few moments of diplomatically arguing the logical wear and tear of things, I, after enduring 2 years of moulding, leaking, breaking, stinking, rat-infested hell, raised my voice at the landlady.
“I didn’t do anything to your fucking bathtub or any other part of your rotting, neglected, piece of shit house”
And I walked away.
And as Wonder-Ross drove off with Julia’s (Thing 1) life in the back of a pick-up, and I hobbled away with my bike, a bag of cleaning products, a broom, and a cast iron pan, I felt an incredible weight lift itself up off my shoulders.
When I got to my new home, I sat on saran wrapped sofa, looked around the room, and said to Other Jen,
“This will be a healing environment”
When I woke up, I sat here to drink my coffee:
And for the first time in months, I allowed myself to stop.
I listened to the birds sing.
I watched the laundry dry on the clothes line.
And there was absolutely nothing else I would rather do.