The Move Toward Freedom Westward AKA The Continuing Story Of My Life>Act 7

In the midst of the summer, the confrontations between myself and my landlady seemed to be more constant; the suggestions for me to get a storage space was out of the question, but she kept up the pace, virtually pressing on top and pressuring me, kept insisting that I had a problem; never mind that she hoarded stuff by the bucketful and kept it all in her garage.

Then sometime in mid-July it happened; I was asleep in my apartment on a late Sunday afternoon, when without any advanced warning, she unlocked the door and came in with one of her ex-in laws to show her where the basement was leaking. I had not been informed nor was I ever told about it either. She treated me poorly and I knew it would only get worse before it got better.

Later that week, I received a brand new lease from her all done up in red ink. The line had been drawn, the curse had been cast and it was all downhill from there. Among the notices she made clear in the lease were; the raising of the rent; no storage space available; pay a security deposit (which I never did pay originally); keep my apartment clean; my box of shoes outside my apartment door smelled bad (how quaint) and I was given only a six month extension. I knew what was happening. She wanted me out; so I decided to give her exactly what she desired, a sort of belated birthday present.

She wrote within the lease that a couple of her friends of hers would be watching her home while she was off in Brazil and expected me to sign the lease when she returned. So if anything came up, like say an emergency, I would be on my own.

It was then I put a contingency plan into motion and began looking for a new place to live. I lucked out and found a place just west of where I lived a few weeks later. It was bigger, roomier, a tad pricier and quiet.

Once I signed the lease of the new apartment, I reserved a rental truck and rounded up five of my friends to help me move. Since I was living on a month-to-month basis already, the lease had expired at least 12 months earlier I didn’t bother to tell the landlady that I was leaving. She didn’t deserve to know anyway, at least not until the day I moved out. I also decided not to tell her I was leaving for fear she would try something crazy which she was extremely capable of doing...