The f—s stole my keys again. This is the second time in about 3 weeks. The first time, I was at the library. I got up from the computer to see the librarian. Came back, keys gone! Second time, today. Someone kept walking by my apartment door stomping his/her feet. I finally got up and opened the door slightly and put a mirror in front of the door so I could see who passed by. But, then, I got up for a minute to get some tissues to wipe my face. Stupid mistake. I’d forgotten I left my keys on my bed, which faces the door diagonally. I quickly ran to the bed, keys gone! I’m sure the one who did it is the woman who cleans empty apartments. She passed by me with a big smile on her face. Bitch!
Anyway, I didn’t lose my cool. That’s what they want me to do. I went down to the office and explained what happened and I should have my keys by tonight(hopefully).
July 4 is a day for hamburgers, hot dogs, potato salad and all those good things we all love. But I don’t celebrate Independence Day. Why should I? I’m not free. On the day I gain back my freedom, I will celebrate our independence from British rule, or maybe not. All of us targets experience torture every day. There’s not one minute we’re left alone, anyway, I’m not. That’s not independence in my opinion. That’s why I don’t celebrate July 4.
If you’re a target and celebrate the 4th of July, have a happy July 4.
I cannot step out of my apartment without the freak next door coming into it. Today, he stole my brush with which I scrub my back. He also stole the small light I use to type my blog. I use it to see the keys. I don’t put any lights on when I’m home because there are cameras in my apartment and want to make it as difficult for them to see me as possible. That piece of s–t has nothing else to do, but come into my apartment and go through everything I own. I got so angry when I came home and found my scrubber and light missing, that I screamed at the bastard through the wall. I told him that I was going to have him arrested. And I will. I’m sick of not being able to leave my apartment without the freak coming into it. There’s nothing he won’t go through. He goes into my refrigerator and steals my food, changes the brand of whatever I buy and replaces it with another brand, smashes my vegetables, takes deodorant from the bathroom, powder, soap, squeezes the toothpaste out of my tube, and, of course, he’s broken all my dining room chairs. He’s removed all the seats and shortened the legs on every one of the chairs. Well, I could go, but I won’t, it’ll just make me angry and want to go next door and…..well, use your imagination. Bastard!
That’s all I’m writing today. I’m too angry to write. The more I write the more I want to go next door and, well…