Today the real-estate agent sent me a new lease and a notice that the rent is going up (timed to arrive just after the period to cancel at the end of the last lease expired, crafty buggers). ‘Course I’m headed for Sydney so I ain’t signing nothin’, and will have to call them about it. I don’t know whether they’re likely to be angry about things like that.

At this point I wonder how people who work 9 to 5 find time to do things like argue with their landlords. I only have two weeks of 9 to 5 coming up, and I already don’t feel cool about it. Like the weasels are closing in, as Hunter S. would say.* Other people must feel like this all the time. Like they can’t do enough, no matter how hard they try, because there simply aren’t enough hours in the day. It’s not a poor person’s world.

I think. Hell, at least I can call ‘em during my leisurely lunch hour and find out about my rights as a tenant on my shiny new computer. In fact, I won’t even call ‘em. Let ‘em write me about it one more time.

*Every now and then when your life gets complicated and the weasels start closing in, the only cure is to load up on heinous chemicals and then drive like a bastard from Hollywood to Las Vegas … with the music at top volume and at least a pint of ether.
—–Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas