This was going to be a post about wilderness and dog training and heart care. Instead, I’m going to talk about the opportunity I missed today to tell the contractor that wants to work on the house that I’m staying in that “He’s FIRED.”
Every month, it’s the same old saga at the end of the month: threats to turn off the electricity and water. Threats of calling the police.
This time, when I came back to the room where I’m staying to get my dogs, the contractor is standing in front of the door – blocking my entrance. He says he’s waiting for the person who hired him when I shrug my shoulders asking him what he’s doing here. He’s been told not to come when I’m here.
So, the person who hired him arrives, and I leave. You see she makes her money off of my disease. Yeah, she can pay rent.
I’m eating a blood clot again.