Oct. 26th, 2016

improperlyhuman: screenshot of Apocalypse from X-Men: The Animated Series (apocalypse)
Day before yesterday, my back bike wheel (and the attached kickstand) was stolen. The bike was locked up outside of the library. The whole damned point of having two bike locks was to safeguard both wheels. The back bike lock was still on when I found the bike after the theft, which confused me for a bit. I must have forgotten to run it through the spokes of the wheel in a sick/sleepy daze. Dammit to hell.

No security cameras. The security guard's shift didn't start until about a quarter of an hour after I found the bike. Perfect.

One hundred and nineteen dollars to replace the wheel (which is the wrong size and is now rubbing up against the metal frame to which my back brakes should be bolted), tire, inner tube, and tube guard, including labor to put the shit together. The bike tech didn't even tell me they didn't have the correct wheel size, just went through the whole job putting the shit together, then handed me the wrong-sized wheel, and that's when I noticed. But I went with it anyways. He reminded me about all the crap on the roads here in the city, and I agreed that a larger wheel would be beneficial.

Let's not forget the approximately $3.50 total I paid for public transportation back to the shelter from the library. The first bus wouldn't let me put my bike on the rack without the wheel (which scared me because I was relatively far away and the rain started soon thereafter), but the driver of the next bus allowed us aboard. Biggest pain in the ass ever carrying the bike in between transit stops. A pain in the shoulder, actually. The moron who designed the local rail service put stairs on every car except the first car, but bikes aren't allowed on the first car, so everyone has to heft their wheels up the damned stairs to ride the train.

Couldn't get the new wheel on last night and had to walk it back to the bike shop today. The part of my frame that the wheel nut-thingy slides into is bent, so I can no longer use a quick-release wheel. That's probably another favor the thief did me, since the stolen wheel was a quick-release wheel that I'd never had a problem with. Another fifteen dollars to have a different wheel bolted on. Nine dollars for a new kickstand.

I was struggling to attach said kickstand (I think it's missing a bolt) this afternoon when the landlord called and said that something (probably the credit check, couldn't understand the words) was taking too long and that we should move on with the process. So I have to get out there tomorrow to get the housing form filled in so that I can take it to the housing authority and get the inspection scheduled. They have two weeks to schedule it. Forever, basically.

I have no sure way to get out of the little town, so I may have to spring for a taxi. The genius who made up the shuttle schedule decided that the last bus out of town should leave less than an hour after the arrival of the inbound bus.

Great, I have a place (assuming the apartment passes inspection). I'm not even happy. Relieved, but not happy. I called the county highway patrol yesterday and found out that bikes are indeed allowed on the shoulder of the highway, but the officer said that they "don't recommend it." Yikes. I guess I'll invest in a helmet. I'll be a million miles from the co-op, but I can't go back to shopping in crappy regular grocery stores (they don't even have oat bran!), so I'm just going to have to become a hardcore cyclist. I don't want to live in this town; I want my old town back sooooo badly.

One of the shelter residents told me that I was "getting chunky," and that her husband had pointed it out to her. What the hell? Her husband needs to stop paying so much damned attention to my body.

OMG. These crazy ass homeless people. Yesterday, a womon was calling an elderly man a nigger out at the intersection in front of the shelter. He just shook his head. As she was crossing the street, she yelled back over her shoulder to tell him that she had been pimpin since 1913. THE YEAR NINETEEN HUNDRED AND THIRTEEN. ??? This afternoon, the cops came and arrested a womon who had been out on the sidewalk yelling at people all day and apparently exposing her breasts at some point.

I hate my life. I'm not going to tell any of the residents that I'm leaving because they'll all make a big deal out of it, just like they made a big deal out of my stolen back wheel. I didn't tell the first person who asked what happened, then another person asked me and I let it out. Then the whole dorm knew by the next day and I got a bunch of condolences I didn't want. So I'm just going to disappear because I don't want to hear shit from nobody anymore. Just like I wanted to forget about the wheel, I want to forget that I ever stayed in this shelter, forget about all the unwanted contact I've had with people (mainly outside the shelter). Since I've barely been awake during my stay, it'll be slightly easier to pretend that it's been one long bad dream.

That's what I need. To forget, to forget so much.

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