Found out someone keyed my car over the weekend.
My best guess as to who did it: the guy who looked like he was trying to break into the Post Office on Saturday night (I saw him, he saw me, he saw which car I got out of, so he probably came back and keyed it after I left). Thanks, hoodlum! You represent your home town so well…by the way, did you ever graduate from high school?
It’s so sad to feel so bitter about a town I had so much hope about way back in 2002.
At this point I am soooooo done with it. If I ever win the lottery, my top priority is getting the hell out of Brunswick, STAT. Or as it is fondly known in this region of the world, “Bruns-hick.”
When I moved here, and when I started this blog, I was so full of optimism and love for everyone… but since then–
- My car has been keyed.
- My neighbor has poisoned my plants, tried to run over my bare foot with his truck, hit the back end of my car with his truck numerous times, and many more horrible things I have already covered in this blog ad nauseum.
- I have had things stolen from my yard.
- I have had trash and used cat litter dumped into my yard.
- A bully smashed my son’s face in for no reason.
- A drunken teenager broke into my house and broke my front door.
- I had a random mean random unsigned nastygram stuck on my car telling me “to stay parked up on your end of the street” where there is never any fucking parking.
- And even more shit has happened, but who wants to hear me whine more?
OMG, one thing my next home will have no matter what is its own goddamn driveway so that I never have to deal with parking problems like this ever again.
Why was I even parked at the Post Office the other night? Because there was no goddamn parking available anywhere near my front door. Parking is my number one issue in this town–there is none. Atr least none near my house. The hoodlum could have keyed my car as it sat in my driveway I suppose, but it would have been far less likely with the car sitting right udner my window with a big huge floodlight on it.
At this point, I am beaten and cynical. I can hear it now: a person who actually likes Brunswick, someone, somewhere out there–although I have yet to find such a person–saying to me “Well. just leave, then.” Oh, I so wish I could. I would effin’ leave in an effin’ heartbeat if I had any money to afford a moving truck and a realtor and all those other expenses that go with moving. If I had a fairy godmother, I would have asked her to get me the hell out of here years ago.
But my sad reality is I have no money, so I will stay in my nightmare, having my car vandalized over and over again, struggling for nonexistent parking over and over again, watching things being stolen from my yard over and over again, getting the stink eye from the crazy neighbor who hates me over and over again, dealing with it only because there is no other option.
But just know that deep inside my seething, angry heart is a person desparate to escape this bloody town as soon as I can.
(Side note: Just because I hate the town does not mean I hate everyone in it. I do love and like a fair number of people here and I hope they are having better lives than I am living in Brunswick, I really do. I wish no ill towards these good people of which I speak.)