2019-01-18 - 6:21 pm
Dear readers-
I had a *very* bad night two days ago.
Long story short, I got into a fight with my mom and I slapped her. She called the police on me, and I spent the night in jail. I got out, but the courts say we can't live together while the case is open, which means until I go to court February the eleventh. If I contact her, I go back.
The lease ends January 31st. I have to go back to school for the Boot Camp Febuary the seventh and eighth. Oh, goodie! *said with immense sarcasm*
I'm looking at a place in Greenacres-a couple of towns south from where I am in West Palm Beach-with Ruby, a realtor my mother and I have been working with to find since she helped us find our first post-Rick apartment. Since mom was doing one of her many month-long "hospital stints", it was fairly easy to look at the place without her being her there, being her usual increasingly-difficult self. I put down money for a background check, and for something else I can't remember. Ruby was nice enough to drive me to the Department of Vital Statistics this morning to get my birth certificate (note to self: *never* trust mom with my important documents *ever* again). We then went immediately to the apartment complex's office, gave her the birth certificate, the nice lady copied it, gave it back to me, we left, and Ruby took me back home.
Since it was about noon, I decided it was too late to go anywhere, so I had lunch, sat around for a bit, then decided to kill some time by biking around the community for about an hour before dinner.
I had trouble getting in last night. When they arrested me, I didn't have time to get my purse, which contained my keys and wallet. Unfortunately, in my wallet was my bus ticket. Luckily, the jail gives prisoners a one-day ticket, but mom had locked the doors. After two hours of futility, I finally managed to get the screen porch open and get in. It wasn't until Ruby called that I learned that she was in the hospital and thus, not likely to come back tonight. You have *no idea* how lucky I am about that. I was just about to curse myself for not accepting the kind offer of one of my fellow inmates to share her tent when we both got out (she was homeless and had apparently been picked up on a vagrancy charge).
Midnight was *not* happy to see me. The last time I saw him *this* upset was the time I was late coming home twice in a row. Thankfully, he's back to his affectionate self.
Now, it seems all that's left is an interview. *sigh* I hate HOAs. I used to think the horror stories about them were all made up. I can't *wait* for the day when I move out and *never* have to deal with them again, unless I want to.
-psyche
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