My neighbors don't need to know my birthday

When renewing my lease the other day, the front desk clerk noted that I have been living here for 8 years now. Apartments like these are transitional. It's mostly divorcees trying to get on their feet, college kids in their first apartment away from home, etc. Eight years practically qualifies me for seniority. (If such a thing existed with commercial properties, at least.)

He said it was a wonder that they don't see more of me, as this complex is big on community activities such as pool parties, special movie nights, and potlucks. I WANTED to say "That's because I hate people. And these apartments. And people. Did I mention that I hate people?"

What I actually said was that I was just a homebody. The truth is I prefer to draw as little attention to myself as possible. My home is my sanctuary. I will not allow myself to be dragged into drama with my neighbors or landlords. Avoiding drama altogether in one's life is impossible. Avoiding drama that knows where you live? That is of dire necessity.

At least they stopped putting "Happy Birthday!" signs and decorations on people's apartment doors. That was such a breach of privacy. I told them the day I signed my first lease that I DID NOT WANT THAT. I don't want my neighbors to know my first name, let alone a vital piece of information that could be used by creepers, criminals, and otherwise crazy people.

Oi. I woke up too early and while my body is full of the "LET'S GO!", my mental capacities are full of the "Wtf, why did we wake up at 2 in the morning?" This means going back to bed, even though I would much rather stay awake and get some more cleaning done.

So, back to bed as it is. I'll probably only get another couple of hours, but it will be a good couple of hours. That's worth putting off scooping the litterboxes for a bit.

This entry was originally posted at