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Lucky

I learned today, yet again, that I work with a wonderful bunch of people, and that I’m a complete wuss-pushover-weakling. I was completely bowled over by my passive-aggressive/manipulative/pathological-lier apartment manager and nobody mocked me for completely losing it in the middle of a work day. Quite the opposite.

One question remains, though: How in the world have I managed to survive this long with such a thin skin? Something’s gotta give, and it won’t be the crazies out there. Now, if I could just find a good deal on a new or lightly used spine… Oh, and a different place of residence.

[Update: Now my mind has been polluted with dreams living in my own house (in which no maintenance problems would ever arise, of course) and of buying myself a piano. Where do such crazy dreams come from? In the extraordinarily unlikely event that I should want to or be able to afford a little house or duplex in this town, I wouldn't have any money left over for pianos! Somebody set me straight before I start furnishing and decorating this phantom house that only lives in my head. Please!]

[Update 2: At least Ms. Psychotic Manager doesn't leave me notes like this. Thanks, Steve, for the link!]

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