Where my trash can used to be.

So I peeked out the sliding glass window in my kitchen after my last post and noticed an emptiness.

Somebody stole my trash can. My less-than-2-week-old can.

I’m an idiot because I loved that can, all stainless steel & Terp-stickered. Fucking junkie scum.

The real creepy? Whoever did it CLIMBED UP ONTO MY DECK to steal it! A neighbor said they’ve had their cans stolen a few times, so they keep ’em inside!

And here I was being so thankful to have a trash can to dump stuff into (especially now with the kitties.)

I really do feel like an idiot; I’m a suburb girl, anyone who says different doesn’t know me for shit. Stuff like this throws me for a total loop. And you may very well guess that, what with all the expletives.

Two more years til I can sell & move to someplace quiet. Or quieter. Or maybe it’ll get a bit better by then?

‘Til then, I should probably fence in my backyard. With what money, I don’t know but perhaps I can get it done on the cheap. To be continued!


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