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Broken car window

by kandynet 0 Comments

When I moved to Chicago, it took exactly ten months to find a job that didn’t put me in my car for 4+ hours a day. Let me be clear here, I was so bull-headed against spending so much time in my car that I accepted a $6/hr pay cut and a shady AF job, just because I’d be able to walk to work when I felt like it. Unfortunately, this meant I needed to spend less on rent. At the time, I was being charged more for rent than I’ve since paid to live alone, and being asked to pay it in cash. But that’s another story for a another time.

After finding the job, I was desperate for a new, more affordable place to live. Not knowing a ton of people, I ended up being introduced to an acquaintance’s ex-girlfriend’s brother who needed a roommate because both of his just up and left. He was staying in a 3-bedroom place and was like, 19 years old, maybe 20, I just remember that I was 25. Now… here is the red flag that I chose to ignore. Roommates don’t just up and leave, with no notice, that’s not a thing. Unless you’re a complete douche-bag. But.. the rent was a third of what I was paying, so I did it anyway.

I never unpacked my kitchenware because the girl I lived with had an overabundance of things in the kitchen, my shit wasn’t necessary. So, it was weird when I moved into this place and the kitchen was completely empty. Not exaggerating. Empty, no dishes, no pans, no silverware, no food, empty fridge. But whatever, this is why I didn’t ever get rid of my cookware. I lugged all that crap across Iowa and to every apartment ever. I was clinging to the idea I’d eventually live alone again and I’d need it. And I was right, so I’m now glad for that.

I’m rambling about the importance of cookware, back to this new roommate.

This kid was constantly “borrowing” forty bucks from me and promising he’d pay it back. Pretty sure he was just buying little bags of weed over and over again. I mean, at least be economically about it and stock up. Me, trying to just keep the peace, and relieved at the lower amount I was paying for rent, it’s another thing I chose to ignore.

As mentioned, I had this car that I hated. It was the first car I ever bought, completely on my own, and it was a lemon. It had kind-of-broken windows? They weren’t really broken, but if you weren’t gentle with them, they would get stuck half way open. A variety of other little issues, but whatever, I woulda hated it even if it was perfect. For some reason, in my mid-twenties, driving just started making me an anxious ball of nerves. This was part of the appeal of moving to Chicago, driving is completely unnecessary. But I wasn’t yet confident that I could live without it. All the temp agencies kept sending me to the burbs just because I did own a car, which is rare among their clients. So when I finally found this job in the neighborhood, I decided to just keep it parked for like a year and see what happened. Basically, test myself on carless living.

Because I was never really using this car, and because I am a fucking nice person, dammit… I told my roomies they could borrow it, if they absolutely needed. The one guy never touched it, didn’t even care. I think his girlfriend actually had a car, so they never even considered using mine. But this kid, man.. Of course, every time I sat down in that car, the gas was on E. But that’s still another thing I chose to brush off.

One day in February, he decided he “needed” it to drive his girlfriend literally one block away to a walk-up restaurant. Let me explain something here, there’s no parking lot, it’s street parking only, in a heavily populated neighborhood, where tons of people are walking around. And 90% of these streets are permit parking only. It would take you longer to park the damn car than it would to just use your legs to get there. People driving to this place, would probably park near our apartment and think they got some rockstar parking. This kid was an idiot.

But that’s not even the frustrating part. As I was leaving to walk to work the next morning, not even aware he had taken it at all… I walk by my car and see the window stuck half way open. What in the fuck? It’s fine that the car’s a piece of shit, it’s fine you’ll never put gas in it, it’s fine you’re going to drive it 1 block away, it’s fine that you’re opening the window in the middle of February when it’s snowing (why, just why?!?!), it’s fine that the window even got stuck, whatever! What is not fine is not even mentioning the issue to me. My car sat outside, in the snow, overnight, with the damn window open. And when I went inside to grab my keys to fix it, I can’t find them, because he has them in his bedroom while he’s sleeping. When I mention the window? The fucker denies it!

After only two or three months of this charade, when I finally say “fuck this, I’m out”? As I’m packing my stuff up, he tries to claim all my dishware, especially the drinking glasses were his. At this point, I think he was just trying to push buttons because it was working. I regret that I forgot my little bear shaped spice holder there, for cinnamon and sugar. That kid does not deserve my bear shaped cinnamon and sugar.

Topic: my life & writing

by kandynet 0 Comments

I always thought I’d be a writer. Which is ridiculous… what, with no schooling, backing, experience in writing. And not even that much reading, if I’m being honest. I strongly believe you can’t be a good writer without devoting your life to reading every free second of your day. But I thought, somehow, if I just kept doing it forever and ever, eventually I’d develop a style all my own that people would enjoy. eyeroll.

In my teens, writing was my form of therapy. Whenever I was upset about anything, excited, or just thoughtful, I’d draft a real vague, stupid post, and tweak it for hours until it was just vague enough to my liking. I followed a lot of other bloggers and basically copied them. Total poser. Into my 20s, my own words would sometimes floor me as I was writing. It felt like such a form of relief just to get the damn thoughts outside of myself. I didn’t really care about who was viewing it anymore, I just wanted it out of my brain. It always made me feel better, even if all I did was talk in circles to myself.

Since I’m one hundred percent self-centered, the world revolves around me, everything is about me, the only thing I can actually write about is myself. Which is unfortunate because I’m incredibly boring. My life has been pretty easy. I have very loving parents who support all my stupid endeavors, even when they don’t fully agree. I’ve been broke, but I’ve never been so broke that I’m homeless. Again, thanks to my parents.

I used to purposefully put myself into these terrible situations. Just to spice things up a bit. I’d push the limits of my friendships, work life, even my living environment. I’ve had so many jobs, friends, and roommates that I just straight up walked out on. Ghosted before ghosting was a thing. Irish goodbyes. One reason was just to prove to myself that I could. The more you blow stuff up, the better you get at putting it all back together. The more stress you confront, the easier the stress is to handle. It’s like getting in a car wreck, but not panicking because you know what to do, you’ve been here before. The chaos is familiar.

Another reason was for the stories. I was determined to be expose myself to anything unknown. A lot of those people and places I walked out on, I shouldn’t have been around, in the first place. These were created from the moments when I would tell myself “this is a terrible idea, but let’s do it anyway and see what happens”. And then I’d have to hatch my escape plan. I got really good at escaping.

The good news is, I think I’ve got that out of my system. Bad news is, I never wrote specifically about any of these situations. If I did, it would have been a super angsty, but incredibly vague post here on Which is no longer accessible anyway because my site got hacked and I lost everything, a couple years ago. Ever since I learned how damn easy it is for anyone to pick up a written journal and read it, I don’t do that anymore. So, these stories are just in my head, never to be spoken of, because they’re mostly embarrassing.

I’d like to start writing about these events, people, places. The shit situations I gladly put myself into just to gladly get myself out of. I don’t know where to start. So let’s just sit on that for a minute.