It's Here

I'm officially sick. The back is much better, thank you.

I managed to bail the rest of the dirt out of the fifty gallon barrel, into a wooden packing crate planter I made. I did a load of laundry and watered the garden.

I wrestled my broken air conditioner out of its hole in my bedroom wall and covered the hole with nailed-on plywood. I'll stuff an old comforter, stuffed in a plastic trash bag, into the inside of the hole and seal it up with a picture.

Tomorrow is the last day of the month.

That means I have to decide: cave in, pay rent, and pray they'll make repairs. Or stick to my guns, withhold rent, remind them I sent a noncomplieance letter a month ago, and fight an eviction. Sigh.

The cold at night stiffens me. I have trouble warming my muscles enough so I don't get hurt.

I truly believe that, had there been a bannister on the stairs, as I've requested since before I signed the lease, I would not have hurt myself so bad, moving that barrel of dirt. I'd have had something to brace myself against, and a rail to hang on to, when lowering the barrel on the dolly.

So, I haven't decided what to do about the rent yet. I try writing; I try calling. They ignore the letters (one per month, included with the rent). When I call (about once a month), the voice is always put-out and impatient.

Whatever I do, I'll either be inconvenienced or out-right tortured for it. And it's their negligence. damn.
But I'm weak, very weak.

I still don't have a heater. It's above freezing, but there's a wind.