Where I live is out in the literal middle of nowhere, about three
and a half miles from where I-10 feeds I-8, a true geographic oddity.
As I mentioned here and here, I landed in a 55+ community where the rent is cheap—my place would go for
2400+ in Phoenix. And it’s more like a townhouse than an apartment with two
floors, two bedrooms, no one upstairs or down. There are ten units total—some three
bedrooms—and largely rely on Walmart and Target delivery for things other than
fresh meat and produce. There is truly one stoplight in town and it’s
not incorporated, just a bunch of houses and businesses thrown up in the
ass-end of the middle of the desert.
When I go out to smoke, there’s Steve, increasingly drunk
every time I need a nicotine fix. He’s the maintenance man here, pulled a long
butt plug from a pretty-much stopped up toilet in #1, won’t post his pic of the
item on reddit because he’s also a pussy.
When I actively avoid him (if I see him waking away from the
smoking area in our courtyard), I have a 50/50 chance of not having him invade
my desire to be away from my job and have some head space of my own. When I was
on site and needed a smoke, I avoided the smoking area and took little walks
around the building, not interested in the gossip and drama my fellow-smoking
coworkers used to fill their fifteen minutes of zero pain.
I try to practice compassion, not punch down, understand
that he’s had a difficult life.
Nde, God is here for this...
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