The color of my nightmares

Laurier kept waking me up last night - he was skittering around the room trying to eat spiders or something. Dumb cat.

In my dream, the house doesn't resemble itself, save for the clusters of boxen roaming the halls, waiting to devour their prey. Or, well, mainly they just sit there, and I freak about needing to fill them with my crap. Then an acquaintance I haven't seen in years comes by with her youngest child - barely walking, but I can't really tell what age he is. It's been long enough that I can remember her face, but not her name.

She wants me to take care of him for a day, in the middle of my packing. I assent, but she's weirdly wary of ground-level windows and the security of the rooms on the bottom floor, so I start showing her the house, telling her where I'd be for the most part (up in my room, packing) At one point, we pass my parents' room and the room Mom has converted for her sitting room. It's gorgeous, looks like a showroom piece, and Mom's completely redone the bathroom.

It's very Mom to make things lovely, but I start getting upset because I'm grudging against our landlord, the ass, and he doesn't deserve to get free remodels from his tenants. Still upset, we wander into the library, and I've lied - I don't have my books packed, they're all there, and more, a room full of hardback fiction. I'd normally go into fits of joy at discovering this many books, but I'm a hairsbreadth from tears.

The alarm goes off, and really, the stress hasn't gone anywhere.

Rage

The landlord left a message last night that he was going to show the house at 11am today. He also emailed me. 7pm to 11am does not make 48 hours notice, per our lease agreement. Nor even 24 hours, which is also standard.

What is triggering my desire to heat up a set of iron spoons until they are white-hot, and then eviscerating him with them and forcing him to eat his own guts off those spoons is that he put a read-receipt on his email, so that he knows when I read the damn thing. 8:30am, you ass - that's two and a half hours for me to respond.

*growl*

Oh, and he signs his email:
Chuckles
Owner - House Virgule*

(*names changed to protect the guilty)

Man, you call a guy's ownership in question once, and he has to remind you from then on, that yes, he outfoxed the bank and got away with not paying the mortgage for four months.

I just called him to let him know the state the house is in, and to let him know that there will be a tenant there. I just hope Ali corners the prospective tenants and gives them an earful.

(no subject)

What is even better than snitching on the landlord to the prospective tenants:

Handing the landlord the notice of default on yet another house. Ah... I wasn't there, and I'm still wallowing in the rightness of it.

I think once we're out, I may snitch on him about the completely unpermitted apartment he built over the garage. (Well, when Gordon's out, too.)