I don’t like renting, I don’t like the city, I want to go home

Ok, it’s official. I’d gotten OLD and had forgotten how badly it sucked to rent property. It really does. We have had possession of the house since the 9th and the air conditioner (that I was assured worked) didn’t work and still hasn’t been fixed. Now, in May that shouldn’t be a big deal, but it’s hot as blazes in here (especially upstairs) and I’ve been cleaning and working and painting and sweating for days.

The list of things that were to be completed before we moved in still aren’t done.

And the real kicker? We smelled a serious gas odor and when I called last Monday to have it checked out… we have a leak in the house. Over 50% of the pressure that enters the house is escaping through a leak and the gas line itself is going THROUGH a heating duct. Nice, eh? The gas company immediately shut off the gas. So this week, we have been without hot water and without a way to cook.

Eating out is expensive — especially when you are moving and there are so many other expenses piling up.

When I rented back in college, I didn’t have these issues. My landlords loved me. I polished up and prettied up my little corner of the student slums around the University of Kentucky. One landlord tried to get me to move all my friends into his building and said he hoped they would all paint and clean and beautify the way I did. He said my apartment was how he wished all the apartments looked.

Now, here I am again… this time with a landlord that doesn’t return calls promptly or make arrangements in a timely or meet obligations to ensure basic services… who actually tells me it’s MY responsibility to coordinate with the service providers. You know, I don’t mind — but if I’m doing this I want a break on my rent for the time invested AND the authority to actually ask them to fix things — neither of which I have now.

I’ve spent hours and hours painting and cleaning and making this place nice. It didn’t start out that way, I assure you. But it had potential. Now, I’m wondering what I’m doing here. Between the pushy visitors (strangers) that knock on the door asking me to “fake some enthusiasm for my contest to get kicked out of the country” (WTF?) and then get angry when I say “I’m working, I really can’t help you”, people that actually TAPE things to my storm door (on the glass I just cleaned and polished) about drink specials at the neighborhood bars and slip things under my windshield wipers on the car parked in my drive, and the general weirdness which leaves me forbidding Alex from riding her bike outside without a chaperone … I’m feeling quite homesick.

I liked when people had to actually make a concerted effort to visit me — when it required calling ahead and required that I go out and unlock the gate to permit entry. Now, I’m in the city and everyone/anyone can knock on my door anytime they please, day or night.

It’s not that I’m necessarily unsophisticated (although that’s probably true too), I’m just remembering with an intense clarity why I moved to the woods — deep in the woods — to live my own life, in my own way, in peace and solitude.

My father says I was too “introverted” for my own good on the farm and even at the cabin on the lake — and that the move to Lexington is going to be “good” for me. But, I’m really beginning to doubt that.

Bluck! 🙁