Feb. 21st, 2011

constance: (Default)
Okay, people of the world, you know what? You have got to stop dumping armloads of garbage in my yard. I mean it. I don't think I'm being unreasonable here. In fact, I am trying to give you the benefit of the doubt, because speaking as someone who pays specially for the little green bags she carries with her while walking the dogs so as not to leave their crap in other people's yards, I understand that not everyone has the same hangups regarding personal space (which radius equals about thirty feet in every direction from my person) as I do; and although it annoys me to have to pick up the occasional styrofoam takeout box or PBR can which totally never belonged to me out of my yard, these things do happen, and I can live with that.

And I also understand that you don't know that my next door neighbor is the second within five years to have aired her hoarding issues on her front (and side, and back) lawn -- I mean, what are the odds there, seriously? And I understand that you don't know that I still have nightmares about cleaning out such a house with roaches trying to climb up my arms and legs, because hey, I suppose some people do that kind of thing all the time and are none the worse for it. And I even understand -- to a degree -- that some people, when confronted with huge drifts of buggy, busted-up stuff, come over all acquisitive and must needs cull through every scrap of it to see if anything's worth having.

But. But.

Do you have to dump my neighbor's stuff over the back fence into my yard to get to other stuff? Really? Because I'm thinking that regardless of my personal issues, and regardless of my regrettably extensive history with hoarding neighbors, dumping an armload of a stranger's junk over a four-foot fence into another stranger's yard is pretty loathsome behavior. It's just manners, when you're rooting through someone else's leavings, to keep your activities confined to the yard you're actually pillaging.

Am I wrong about this? I don't think I am wrong about this. But right or wrong, I am wanting it to stop pretty badly, because every day I go home for lunch and see more roach-egg-encrusted stuff in my back yard, stuff that I am going to have to touch to throw away properly, I am one step closer to breaking into tears. And then hanging out in the back yard with a baseball bat and a hotline to the police station. I am telling you, people of the world, that you are on your way to turning me into that crazy old lady who glares out of the windows at everyone who dares approach her property, and when that happy day arrives, I have every intention of making you suffer right along with me.


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