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nonethefewerSo, instead of painting today, I did not paint today! Why not? Because despite being told I could paint today, and despite mentioning I'd be coming by today to get the keys so that I could paint, no one -- read, "the landlord" -- bothered to tell me that the walls had not been patched and primed, as he had promised.
I'm told that there are leaks and rot, that have delayed finishing the kitchen. Fine. That makes it a larger priority than painting, sure. Except fucking tell me.
I am not enraged or doom-frustrated or anything (and assertions that I should not be so will not be received well); it's a pain in the ass, but it's not forever. (In fact, I'll probably take responses like "you should calm down, it's not the end of the world" to mean you don't know how I treat my frustration versus my anger, which will, entertainingly, piss me off.) It'll all be done in a week or two, we'll have moved on, life continues, no worries. We'll have a place for our stuff and a place to sleep -- the former is legally required, and the latter is Brooklyn-y assured -- so I'm not concerned at all on that front.
What's currently bugging the vainglorious fuck out of me is that while the landlord is pretty nice, and his kid is cute, and he really means well, everything he has touched has been frustrating. Like the listed square footage, or the back yard, or the rent, or the painting, or the microwave, or the yard, or bloody anything. I'm at the point where I don't care that he means well, because what he is doing is inconveniencing us.
Of course, if he'd just said that things would be b0rked schedule-wise, at any point, that would be different. It'd be frustrating to not be able to paint, but in a sort of "it's raining" way. Alas, how meaning well and doing well aren't actually the same thing.
See, this is why I give this stuff torosefox -- she can be the diplomatic one. I would have, based on my lack of food at the time, probably have just laughed derisively into the phone for about five minutes.
kflklajldsaf. Okay. I am overindulging on frust, and I should sleep.
I'm told that there are leaks and rot, that have delayed finishing the kitchen. Fine. That makes it a larger priority than painting, sure. Except fucking tell me.
I am not enraged or doom-frustrated or anything (and assertions that I should not be so will not be received well); it's a pain in the ass, but it's not forever. (In fact, I'll probably take responses like "you should calm down, it's not the end of the world" to mean you don't know how I treat my frustration versus my anger, which will, entertainingly, piss me off.) It'll all be done in a week or two, we'll have moved on, life continues, no worries. We'll have a place for our stuff and a place to sleep -- the former is legally required, and the latter is Brooklyn-y assured -- so I'm not concerned at all on that front.
What's currently bugging the vainglorious fuck out of me is that while the landlord is pretty nice, and his kid is cute, and he really means well, everything he has touched has been frustrating. Like the listed square footage, or the back yard, or the rent, or the painting, or the microwave, or the yard, or bloody anything. I'm at the point where I don't care that he means well, because what he is doing is inconveniencing us.
Of course, if he'd just said that things would be b0rked schedule-wise, at any point, that would be different. It'd be frustrating to not be able to paint, but in a sort of "it's raining" way. Alas, how meaning well and doing well aren't actually the same thing.
See, this is why I give this stuff to
rosefox -- she can be the diplomatic one. I would have, based on my lack of food at the time, probably have just laughed derisively into the phone for about five minutes.kflklajldsaf. Okay. I am overindulging on frust, and I should sleep.
