Friday, February 24, 2012

So Ends the Mr. Knife and Wassail Saga

I figure I should dash something out quickly since I have unfairly gone absent in such a riveting time, what with Mr. Knife and all, but I do need to begin attacking my day. Probably the worst effect of this stressful saga is that it's made me feel okay with being lazy and sloppy since I was so willing to set my habits aside to concentrate on this issue, so my lifestyle needs to recover (and I need to shave!).

Okay, since we last interacted I have managed to get into my new apartment. I still need to transfer some minor clothes, my groceries and seasonings, and clean my room before it's all final and I don't have to deal with Wassail anymore, but by and large I am here. Positively dandy and wonderful, it all is. I still need to get some minimalistic furniture to take on some practical functions such as the dining room table and bookcase, but oddly enough I desire to preserve as much bare space as I can, as I like the spacious feel it gives off.

Nothing ever really happened with Mr. Knife. The situation did briefly escalate, yet nothing came of it. I decided to randomly Google one of the addresses off a piece of his mail since I thought the wording on it was odd ("unit in transfer"), and it turns out the address went to a jail. If that wasn't unnerving enough, Googled his name and an article near the top of the page revealed that three years ago he went to jail for a very violent assault in which he beat a man with a chain. (He real name is Justin Ray Klosky.) My suspicious that Mr. Knife is a thug was totally correct.

When I told Wassail all this she was totally moronic. I wanted to tell her so that she could act rationally to the potential threat, as I feared without the information she would have aggressively confronted Mr. Knife about his financial dues and provoke him, but for a brief while she wouldn't allow herself to fathom what kind of danger there was. At first all she could focus on was the money she owed him. Then she said she had some kind of male friend who lived a half-hour away who would protect her if she needed him, and took a long while to understand that Mr. Knife was armed with a fighting knife (something called a stiletto) and firearm, rendering that male friend's fighting capabilities useless since he had no weapons. It wasn't until I myself refused to be present during any confrontation that she finally agreed to call the police during such an event. My god, Wassail is nearly sixty years old: How can she be this insanely irrational towards a threat like this, especially considering she's been keeping tenants in her home for over a decade and has had years to refine her thinking on how to treat situations like this? She has had such a long time to perfect her habits in how to bring in reliable and safe people in and what procedures to conduct in certain events, and yet even after thirteen years of doing this she still appears a wet-behind-the-ears landlord.

I don't know what's going on with Mr. Knife. Since that morning he had that temperamental outburst with me we've never been in the house at the same time, and now it looks like he's actually abandoned his room and terminated his contract with Wassail, though he's giving mixed signals.On one hand it is apparent that he came home in Wassail's absence and emptied his room of all valuable and worthwhile property, leaving little else behind but garbage and the contract ripped in half. To the eye it's obvious he's making it clear that he wants nothing more to do with the household, but then again Wassail has managed to speak to him on the phone multiple times after the event, in which Mr. Knife promises to pay his last remaining dues and charges. His actions conflict with is words, so who knows what's going to happen.

With Mr. Knife out of the way, the focus goes back to Wassail. While she's taking a financial punch to the gut and suffering due to the spontaneous loss of two tenants, I feel not the least bit of sympathy for her. She is, simply put, a bad person. She's dishonest about her spending habits -- which is relevant when she has to explain unpaid bills to her tenants, despite us contributing our billed portion -- she takes advantage of and uses people, she mooches off other people and refuses to seek any more work beyond her piddly grocery job (while at the same time complaining about money troubles all the time!), she's an alcoholic, she's extremely rude and pushy when asserting her opinions, and can be very inconsiderate on how her habits and noise affect the other tenants. It's no wonder how she's transformed into the nearly isolated, financially weak, and broken woman that she is. While she does speak of "friends," it's pretty obvious from her habits and personality how she drives people away and pushes people away, leaving her a virtual hermit in her home life. Aside from the fact her bad screening procedures get her bad room renters, her bad character probably makes her tenants cycle rapidly, and even consistently break their contract with her by abandoning the room. I know I've certainly thought about letting her discover my empty room on occasion.

While I know in speaking about my annoyance I usually refer to her aesthetics such as her personality, but my hostility is still essentially rooted in her immorality. Of all things, her type-1 diabetes are the breaking point. If she doesn't manage them well, then the practices of a single day she can be in danger of dying or dropping dead. All the incidents in which her life has been in danger number up to approximately fourteen. She's been found passed out, crawling to her bedroom door on her knees, in a cognitive haze by the oven, totally delirious in a taxi, and probably much, much more I know about it. Out of all of those incidents she has probably needed the ambulance called on her about seven times, three or five of which were done by me. She knows how to manage her diabetes, how to prepare for an emergency, and how to react and respond to symptoms of an oncoming episode -- and yet the "emergencies" keep happening. Inexcusable. When you first deal with them it's horrible stress to bear, because at the back of your mind you have this distrust simmering away about how she's irresponsible, driving up anxiety towards the prospect of coming home to a corpse because she passed out when nobody was there to save her. Eventually and unfortunately this anxiety eventually goes away, giving into total desensitization. Eventually you just don't care. There have been times when me and a roommate would honestly think she passed out in a room, such as when she doesn't make noise or respond to her name, and we would just leave her there and worry about the body later. (It never happened, though; she's was alright in those circumstances.) It's very unjust to force the obligation on us to take care of her, which makes it all too easy to simply not care about her.

Overall, she has done so much to be her own destroyer that I feel no concern about any of the negatives she has in her life, since she's almost totally responsible for bringing them about. She's the one who chooses to be an alcoholic. She's the one who refuses to work beyond twenty hours a week to earn more money. She's the one who spends the majority of her time watching television and playing games. She's the one who mistreats people. How can anyone feel sorry that she's in poor health, poor, and alone? There's so much she could do to regain herself and she won't do it. To that I say she deserves to suffer. You have to lift yourself up by the bootstraps, because no one else is going to do it. If you lay in the mud, you'll deservedly sink.

I feel especially right to offer up this condemnation since I've been an excellent tenant. I've paid all my bills on time and in full (except for one-day late rent, simply because I forgot), always cleaned up my messes, did more than my fair share of household chores, keep extremely quiet so as to never be intrusive, and even did favors for Wassail. In her own testimony, I and another tenant -- we did both reside at the same time once -- were the best tenants she had in her decade of keeping roommates. Well she certainly can't keep us, and did well to drive us away. The other guy abandoned ship, and now will I: Good luck finding people like us again. When you don't treat your values right, you lose your values.

From here on out it would not surprise me in the least to find Wassail in the obituaries. It's likely she'll have little else but garbage tenants from here, or that she may kill herself with her diabetes without anyone around to save her this time. This is how she's managed to live up to this day: Someone was always around by luck when she had one of her episodes. If she has one now she's gone.

It might be a little sad to lose from my life the entertaining practice of talking about people with fun nicknames like Wassail and Mr. Knife, but now comes the next major phase of my life. I think living with terrible people has always been the most essential obstacle to my character development, since living with those people had stress of such magnitude that I altered and held back my lifestyle to the extent that my whole person was held back in progress since I was so focused on avoiding these people above all else, essentially because we couldn't rationally resolve our differences and I would be stuck with them for a time. (Landlord Wassail, for instance, has been approached many times about her irresponsible health habits, and yet she keeps having her "emergencies" repeatedly.) It's like having a very large and heavy object in the middle of your working space, which you keep bumping into and tripping over, which you cannot get out of your way for a long time due to limited means.

Well, now I'm alone. I know that having a roommate would makes things cheaper for me, but I'm done taking that risk. In different contexts, I've lived with six or seven different people in my lifetime, and every single one of them has either imposed great stress upon me or even inflicted harm. Hell, look at Wassail: Out of the millions of people I could have met, in getting away from bad people I happened to get with her, who happened to have many of the bad character qualities I was trying to escape. However expensive it may be, living alone is the only safe option for my personal comfort. Now there's aren't any impediments in my living space. To hell with impediments. Hopefully I can retain my ability to live alone until the day I'm married; nary another roommate until then!

People can add immense value to one's life, but bad ones can add fundamental stress. While I have an overall positive view of humanity, I've been unlucky as to have to deal with primarily bad people in my life, including family members who don't really care about my objective well-being. I don't impose on others, and yet I've had to deal with impositions from others; what a violation of the golden rule. From here I intend to have only a three-track mind: Get into fine dining, become the best I can at my present job, and become the best human being possible to me.

I've got lots more to write about, but I'm so far behind on everything. There's almost thirty audio files I need to sort on the audio recorder I take notes on, to indicate how lazy I've been. I have no idea why the Mr. Knife sage made me feel this way, but after that one stressful morning I've felt far too okay not living productive days. It's not that the stress made me miserable or distracted, it's that I suddenly didn't care. Well, time to start caring again.

And time to shave.    

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