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Monday - 11:31 p.m.

I talked to my landlady today for almost three hours.

She made me a peanut butter sandwich and showed me pictures of her grandchildren. It turns out that she's just a poor, misunderstood old lady who was lonely all this time. Or least, that's what I wished had happened.

Actually, my landlady is a raving, psycho hose-beast, who threw an empty gin bottle at my head when I asked her to please have someone fix the front door to my apartment.

I told her that I really wanted the door fixed since my neighbor, who owns the large barking dogs had been inside my apartment, probably because I can't lock my kitchen window. My crazy landlady then informed me that my neighbor, who owns the large barking dogs, is the residence's handyman, and he has permission to be inside my apartment anytime he wants.

Then she spit on my shoe.

Tomorrow I'm going apartment hunting.

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