My Apartment Is Trying To Kill Me
There have been a number of perturbing instances as of late, where unexplainable things have happened inside the confines of my current living space that have lead me to believe one of two things:
1) My apartment is possibly haunted and the entity that inhabits it isn�t all that impressed with me and wishes me a very untimely demise.
2) My apartment is actually a living symbiotic organism that has rejected the current occupants as suitable companions to latch on and live off of and is doing its best to evict me post haste.
Either way; something is trying very hard to make my living arrangements very difficult and in some cases down right harmful. Examples then, shall we?
The valance attached to my blinds that are above the sliding door that accessed the patio has fallen and hit me in the head at for no explainable reason. This is noteworthy because it has happened when I haven�t disturbed the blinds or opened doors and has just randomly plummeted from its perch to smack my noggin. While not exactly harmful it is a bit unsettling that a piece of my household leaps from the walls at random intervals, but only when I�m standing underneath it.
Various implements in and around the kitchen are also creating a hazard to my health. Somehow several of the cupboards have been conveniently placed on some sort of undetectable sliding rail system. I know this because regardless of my state of sobriety there are two very sharp corners located head level at two unconnected points that always manage to move precisely where my head is planning on being. If this head trauma alone wasn�t enough, several of the doors are mounted with trick springs that even when slammed closed tightly, always open back up again. This of course always happens just as I am turning around to exit the kitchen area. While the impact of face to door doesn�t provide as severe damage as the sliding corners do, it is disconcerting to lose once glasses and occasionally bloody a nose because of door that can swing open at face level without prior notification or provocation.
One close call with the garbage disposal unit (or the ripping fingers from my hand device as I call it) should have been enough. I of course gave the possessed device the benefit of the doubt, deciding that it was my fault it started up on it�s own after I reached in to remove a forgotten piece of silverware. But it then refused to digest the broccoli I shoved down its gullet and then had the gall to spit it back out upon me and the entire kitchen area (thus confirming to my roommate that if a garbage disposal spits it out, then it wasn�t meant to be eaten) in a burst of foul smelling green spray. At this point, I was done playing and called in a professional hit squad (apartment maintenance) to deal with this cursed device.
The final line item on my list of events that proves my apartment is plotting my demise came early this morning. My roommate and I have been steadfast in our resolve to not switch on the heating device to keep our electric bill virtually non-existent for as long as possible. In an act of self-preservation and moderate cowardice, the roommie decided that when he arose earlier than normal that he couldn�t take the frigid confines of our living space any longer and switched on the heat while I still slumbered. Unfortunately for both of us, the heater had yet to be kicked on and the normal burning off of residue that collected on the heating coil over the long summer months took place at exactly 0600. Such was the build up and on the heating element that the vents spewed forth not only blessed heat, but thin wisps of smoke in alarming quantities. I use �alarming� because it was just enough burnt smelling but barely visible smoke to set off two of the three fire alarms located in our place.
Strangely enough, I was enveloped in a most wondrous dream where I was cavorting about in a high school flashback. This happened to involve a not to be mentioned current female in my social circle inserted in the midst of my high school days long forgotten and involved details that, while worth mentioning, shall for now remain unsaid. Such was the lucidity and detail of this particular dreamscape so surreal that I mistook the blaring smoke detector for my high school era alarm clock and awoke screaming, �Mother I�m up already�� The confusion quickly gave way to embarrassment on both mine and my roommate�s part. He standing sheepishly in the doorway of my room, trying to disassemble the blaring alarm in the dark that his actions had set off and me not even wanting to fathom trying to explain why on earth I woke up screaming for my mommy.
Even though I do not fear my apartment, I do now greet it with slant eyed weariness that I normally reserve for those beings I meet that I suspect of being full of malicious intents or down right no goodness. Each day upon my arrival as I stand before the yawning front door, mocking my very existence as I struggle mightily to get the beast to open wide to admit me into its depths and I think to myself, �I know what�s going on here pal, but I�m on to you!�
But please for my sake, speak not of this within the confines of my humble abode! While I am now overly cautious about falling shower curtains, foreboding electrical devices and suspect light fixtures, this must be kept hush-hush. As I prepare to do battle with the omnipotent denizen known as my apartment, I don�t want the fiend to know that I am on to its little plan for my impending demise.
Revenge, as they say, is a dish best served cold. Even if I am taking such acts of reparation on something as asinine as my inanimate living quarters...
I sear it so...Victory Will Be Mine!
Or so I...hope...?
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