See, I've changed moods already.

I told you it wouldn't last long.

Just found out The Bitch Upstairs (tm) has ripped up the carpet on the stairs to the third floor, and has decided to paint and the recarpet.

Yes, you heard me right: Paint. And then recarpet. I know absolutely nothing about recarpeting, whether or not they use, say glue or something like that that would have an odor and/or fumes.

But Paint? Yeah, I'm pretty damn sure that has some fumes. And odors. And neither of those things are things my body is capable of handling.

It's not as if this is new information, either. The Bitch Upstairs (tm), you might remember, figured it was worth almost killing me to repaint the porch because her daughter needed it to look nice for her graduation party. In addition to paint, her arsenal includes the dreaded Mothballs & so-called Air Freshners. All told, in the past three years or so, I've been forced to leave my house about 5 times, sometimes for longer than a week because of something she has added to our environment without thought or care as to how it affects my body.

Not that I'm surprised. Because, she is, afterall, a Bitch.

And my grandmother? This grandmother? Yeah. She's all "well, I TOLD her not to." No. You don't TELL her, because we know from experience that she doesn't give a shit about what you say: You yell and scream and walk off in a huff, & then she does it anyways and I wind up in the ER or my other grandmother's couch again.
You say "Listen Bitch: This is my house. These are my steps and that is my granddaughter. You make one move toward any form of paint, and you'll find your bags out on the street."

The End.

I guess, sometimes, it's just too much to expect people (you know, your family???) to stand up for you.

So, who knows what tomorrow will bring? Maybe I'll be posting from the Hilton?