Soaring With Chickens

What are these pictures of people seemingly doing things at a sink outside my window? There’s a guy who might be washing something (such person being my landlord actually), and the other guy is…shaving?

DSCN0208 DSCN0204

Well, it’s exactly that, and here’s the outside view for perspective.

Paint 3

It’s sad to say, but it’s an awful situation where I’m at. I’m living on the premises of a tire shop and the owner — a man who calls himself “Persian” because he’s afraid of the stigmatism attached to the country of Iran where he’s from — decided to attach four walls to an already existing structure. I found the place through Craigslist so that I could afford getting through grad school, but sadly, I’ve been stuck here ever since I completed my thesis. Not having a real family causes problems like this, but let’s not get whiny here.

I’m dealing with it.

Actually, I had originally titled the post, “Alert: Moron Ahead,” but decided to change it for sounding too derogatory; though my new title may be equally so.

Anyways, the Persian, the one who thinks it’s okay to install sinks in front of a person’s personal renting space so that homeless people can shower and shave directly in my presence, is the type of person who feels it an unnecessary thing to clean up paint when spilled. I found this about a week ago:

Paint 2

And then I went outside today and found this:

Paint 1

Who the fuck does this?

Spill some paint? Go grab a hose and clean it up you fucking lazy bastard. Instead, he just leaves it there to dry. This is so insane, it’s incomprehensible.

Nevertheless, it’s just another tale in the long line of a life lived, my current situation the tail end of an adoption gone horribly wrong. Of course, I can understand that complaining about a lack of real family can be unhelpful, unproductive and even downright sorry…I’m well aware of this. I minored in psychology at UC Davis for goodness sake.

I just wish that things could be different sometimes, that when I got finished with my degrees I could go home somewhere, to be with people who would know me, and to gain some ground as I go through the process of finding a decent job.

But there’s more to the story, and I am forewarning of plenty more to come.

[With all that said, if there’s anyone who knows a woman who gave up a baby boy in October of 1968, in Little Rock, Arkansas, please let me know. It’s the Internet, won’t this work for me?]


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