(Un)Righteous Indignation...

This last week has been, as with ANY week, kind of peculiar. As I'm getting ready to move at the end of this month (to a bigger, better place), my landlords showed my apartment. I didn't think I'd be terribly bothered by this, but I was. The landlords gave me a days notice, which was nice. But the really annoying issue was the fact that the time they listed were 9AM-6PM. Pretty standard stuff, I suppose. It wouldn't have been so bad, had I been able to sleep the previous night, and hadn't had that day off. So I basically made it a point to set my alarm for 9AM, whether I got sleep or not, and waited. AND waited. And waited some more. Until about 5:30PM. When a 20-something couple came a-knockin', with Resident manager in tow.

Now I'm only vaguely aware of Norman Rockwell and his paintings, other than they're considered to be, by many, anthemic images of their times. So much so, that a great many consider them to be perfect examples of Americana. The couple that walked into my apartment, that evening, looked like they stepped out of Rockwell painting. I kid you not.

And I hated them immediately.

They were generically attractive, in their mid-to-late-20's, dressed well, and polite. Add to that, friendly, curious, and more than a little enthusiastic. To see a couple like this, happy, and ready to move on with their lives with positivity, literally made me want to stove their heads in. Thank God I'm good at suppressing those impulses, or I'd have ended up on the 11 o'clock news.

They had a look around, and the Manager commented to me that she was surprised at how well I took care of my apartment. I wasn't sure if I should take that as a compliment or not. By the time they all left 15 minutes later, I was literally shaking with a combination of anger, indignation, and jealousy. What a combo. I was left feeling miserable for the remainder of the night.

I know exactly why I felt as I did. Ultimately, I was jealous, I felt I was more deserving of what real, or imagined, things they had. I want that happy relationship. I want that sense of accomplishment. I want that feeling like things are moving on to better things. I want that positive feeling.

I just have no idea how to get any of that.

Yesterday, I finally got all of the ex's junk out of the apartment. I thought things would be more awkward between us than they were. She was friendly, chit-chatted with me. Told me a bunch of things I really didn't care too much to hear about. And I tried to keep things simple, and not share too much of what I was thinking or feeling. I didn't want to start anything, basically. When her sister showed up, along with a friend with a trailer to help move the larger stuff, I was in for a treat. True to form, "Sisterzilla" (as good a name as any, to refer to her as) did more complaining, pouting, whining, bitching, than any actual moving. And in about an hour-and-a-half, things were organized, packed, and incrementally taken out and moved. Ex is now fully, and completely gone.

Fun times.

NOT!