Kevin asked me how our landlord situation is going. I'll answer for anyone who's curious. "Not well." I had a run in with the manager next door who sputtered at Michelle and I in broken english that we could only stay one night a month. At least I think that's what he was saying. More and more I feel like a prisoner in my own apartment. I sneak out the side for work each night so the managers won't see me and sneak back in each morning.

I feel alone on it now since Amanda got a parking space behind the apartment. It's ten feet from our stairwell, so getting in and out is pretty easy. I've had to resort to parking a block away, just so I can come in from the south entrance. This is getting ridiculous. If someone doesn't at least try to get me on the lease soon I'm going to walk up to the manager's apartment and introduce myself. At least I wouldn't have to worry about it anymore.

I'm already 2,500 miles away from home and I feel like I can't even walk onto my back porch. I find myself steering clear of the large bay doors when the blinds are open. I feel like I'm in witness protection.

I finally understand how they catch those criminals that have been hiding out for years and slipped up by going to a bowling alley or a shooting range. The poor bastards just couldn't take it anymore.