Ran into Jan yesterday. She seemed down, a bit whipped.
Returning from the Pain Cave that morning, I saw her, and a group of other residents, selecting veggies from that mobile food bank, run by the Talker’s brother.
There is not a doubt in my mind that, once management becomes aware of what the Talker’s brother is doing — bringing that van in, giving away free veggies, they’ll come up with a reason to put an end to it — either saying someone has complained or it’s a liability issue.
I didn’t need anything from the van but, just to be sociable, I walked over, selected a few tomatoes and a spaghetti squash.
Jan just wasn’t her normal chipper self.
I didn’t inquire, but I began to wonder if management sic’d the lawyers on her with one of their cease and desist letters.
When I told her that someone must have liked the latest big rock she’d put out — the one that said God Isn’t Finished With Me Yet, because it had disappeared, she said, “I’m glad it’s gone because someone liked it, rather than tossed it in the trash”.
THAT was very telling — she knew management was throwing painted rocks away, looked hurt (Manager probably told her of this disposal method, just to twist the knife as he stuck it in, show her who's boss around here because she'd challenged him).
Jan further went on to say she wouldn’t be painting or planting anymore rocks because of the complaints.
Yep, management wore her down … or threatened her.
Oh well, it was nice in the short while it lasted.
I’m feeling very sorry for the residents who don’t have the option to get out and about. There’s nothing for them to do here, except stay in their units and fade away or, as one yelp commenter wrote, “You don’t get to ‘live’ here. We just exist”.
Speaking of fading away, it’s becoming a struggle not to just hold up in my unit and fade away my own darn self.
Not because I can’t get out and about, but more and more that I don’t want to.
Having become accustomed to the pandemic thing of ordering online, having goods delivered to me, I’ve gotten so comfortable with that accommodation that, low on Trader Joe’s Stevia — the only stevia that satisfies the tastebuds, I came thisclose to ordering online for delivery, but then I motivated myself to get out and drive the 18 miles to Trader Joe’s.
Not to mention that I'm supposed to be training for an upcoming in-person 5K, but can't motivate myself to go walking in the indoor mall, to test my endurance, see if I'm still up to a 5K after so long an absence from.
At any rate, in-store shopping at Trader Joe's is the second return to normalcy for me, post-pandemic, the first being the nail salon.
Upon returning to the complex, I checked mail and found I’d been issued an “Official Jury Summons”.
I’d rather have root canal than do that so-called civic duty.
Fortunately, I don’t have to.
I applied for and was granted a “Permanent Jury Excuse” in 2017. Consequently, they are not supposed to even be bothering me, so the joke is on them.
All I have to do is return the summons with a copy of my permanent excuse, and I’m thankfully off the hook.
Nice try, criminal justice system, but no cigar.