Literary Bears

For the Love of Books


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On Tuesday, Margaret told me she liked the little oranges with the seeds better than the ones I bought. I hated her for that. Margaret was the type of person that LOVED things, not in the way normal people love things. It was more like the way Annie Wilkes from Misery loved things. If Margaret is ever accused of kidnapping her favorite actor, I would not at all be surprised. (I would say her favorite author, but who am I kidding? Margaret can’t read.) As a matter of fact, if Johnny Depp ever goes missing, I’m going to automatically assume it was her. I will just call the police and point the finger. She’s such a psycho, but I digress…

On Monday, Margaret had told me there was something about seedless fruit that just made her want to eat nothing but fruit all day, and that I should buy seedless EVERYTHING because it was just so life-altering. She yapped about this ALL day, until finally I went out to buy some seedless fruit so that she could stuff her face and leave me alone. When I got home with the grocery bags, she looked at me like I was the second-coming of Jesus and said she loved me more than anyone ever could, and she meant it wholeheartedly, I could tell. I told her, “That’s disgusting, please don’t love me. Just stuff your face and shut up.” She ran to the couch with her freshly washed fruit and I did not hear a peep out of her until the next day. So when on Tuesday, she declared that she liked “the little oranges with the seeds” better than the ones I bought, I almost choked her.

Margaret and I had been roommates for 9 months by this point, nine miserable months. I knew she was crazy on my first night there, but it was too late. I had signed the contract saying I would be required to stay one full year, and breach of my contract would result in a lawsuit. I thought that was pretty crazy when I read it, but I would never again find an apartment in this area for this cheap. They claimed the contract was to control who could live there because they wanted to keep excellent tenants, and discourage the kind that “floated from place to place” from even applying for rooms in their house. Of course now I know better.

I’ve learned since signing the document that my landlord is Margaret’s mother who knows exactly the kind of nutjob she gave birth to. She forces tenants to sign a contract in hopes that Margaret will find friends. How sad is that? It’s sad, but then you meet Margaret. Once you meet her, all sympathy goes right out the window.

The night I moved in, I asked Margaret if she wanted to split a pizza for dinner. She thanked me for the offer, but said it was much too soon to be her “bestie”. I thought she misheard, so I repeated that I was only asking if she would like to order pizza for dinner. She told me, she valued my persistence, but now was not the time. On the day after I moved in, I found Margaret sniffing my shoes. I wish I was joking, but I’m really not. When I asked what she was doing, she claimed she dropped something and she swore it had fallen in my shoe, but she guessed she was wrong. On the third day, she started to comment on strange things like the smell of my deodorant, and the smell of my toothpaste. I didn’t feel like my life was in danger, but I thought it was time for me to go. I immediately made an appointment to meet with my landlord. She seemed to already know what it was about, and immediately apologized and made excuses. That’s when I found out she was Margaret’s mother. As sympathetic as she seemed, she was not going to let me out of my contract. I had no choice but to go back to my little loony bin.

It did not get easier to deal with her. She was constanly making strange observations, and was constantly in search of her next obsession. The worst was when she fell in love with a YouTube video about a cat meowing on a loop. Think about it. REALLY think about it. Do you have any idea how annoying waking up at 3am to “meow.meow.meow.meow.meow.meow.meow.meow..” is? And she didn’t just watch it, she created a playlist that would play it on a loop nonstop so that she could hear it every moment she breathed, whether awake or asleep. That lasted for six months. I almost jumped out my window, and I didn’t do it because I calculated the fall would not kill me, it would only break one of my limbs; an arm or a leg depending on how I landed. I decided that a visit to the hospital would not be a long enough vacation from her so I never jumped.

Time has passed, and I have planned a huge party to celebrate my freedom. People may think I was just released from prison, but that’s quite alright. It’s accurate enough. My last day in my cell is 2 weeks from today. Yesterday, I saw a young woman who was interested in renting the room. Before I knew it, I was yelling out to her, “Don’t do it! It’s not worth the cheap rent! They’re crazy! They’re all crazy!” Margaret and her mother did not even blink, they turned to the young lady and said, “that’s the crazy lady you read about on the website. Don’t worry. She’s finally moving out.”  and to me, Margaret said “there you go making up lies again. tsk tsk”

At that point, I decided to start this blog. If you having fallen a victim to that contract, please know you are not alone! If you have managed to survive the year, let’s have a drink! If you are currently under the contract, find strength in knowing many have been through it, and it can be done!! You too can survive this year!

Author: Literary Bears

Needless to say, we are not really bears, nor is this a blog dedicated to bears reading. Sorry to mislead, but we are mere humans known as the Literary Bears. We are readers, not writers, but that's never stopped us before! 😉

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