Song of a Renter
Sell your shit for a song. Give away lovely things. Find a safe place to put something in perpetual storage - I’m coming back for this, I say.
Sometimes, I pay movers. Sometimes I move myself. Some things get broken. Some things have to be left behind, only to buy them again. 3 ergonomic kneeling chairs, 2 tray trolleys, 2 sets of flat files (currently none), a bookcase (too big or too small), chairs (no room and now needed), rugs, and tables. I buy and then re-buy eventually, maybe. Also, of course, art supplies - foam core, saw horses, power tools, staplers, glue guns, spray paint, gold leaf and so much more.
In my new place every doorknob, window, light switch, and faucet needs attention. I paint when I can and sometimes I pay someone to do a bad job painting. Sometimes I sand, prime, and paint the cupboards in the kitchen, or bathroom, or both. I act as an unpaid general contractor for getting the heating system up to code. I paint, repair, and add trim to the floor, ceiling, walls, or all three. I clean the hallway, the stairs, the building’s entryway, and the stoop.
Sweep.
Mop.
Sage.
I pay my rent on time. I clear the tiny front yard of dog poop so that the flies go away. Power wash the front walk, the fence, maybe the facade. I repair the mailbox, gate, and buzzer. Leave a note and ask the neighbors to kindly close the front door so that the building is secure. Spray the lock and hinges with WD-40. I clear a path to the backyard. Clear trash from the backyard, trim the overgrown untended greenery, and then remove more trash. Plant a tree, and start a neighborhood trash pick-up group that no one joins. Just me, picking up trash. I do light repairs to nearby public parks, and contact the city about dangerous intersections and hazards in the public way. I hang ambiguously official no-smoking signs and stick vinyl no-smoking stickers at kid-friendly areas and local bus stops. I sprinkle local wildflower seeds in medians. Get to know the shop owners. Volunteer, raise money, donate, and collect donations. I see small changes. Not because of me, but because there is a slow-forming, but powerful wave of change that I am a part of. I begin to see municipal investment in the neighborhood.
I get forced out by rapidly rising rents.
I fight my landlord for my deposit.
Quickly now, I search for a new place. I pack. I sell some of my shit for a song. I give away lovely things. Find a new place.
Sometimes, I pay movers. But this time I move myself. Things get broken. Things have to be left behind.
I movie in. I clean. I paint. I slowly fix every doorknob, window, light switch, and faucet. I clean the hallway, the stairs, the building's entryway, and the stoop.
Sweep.
Mop.
Sage.
Sweep.
Mop.
Sage.
Sweep.
Mop.
Sage.
Sweep.
Mop.
Sage.
Sweep.
Mop.
Sage.
Sweep.
Mop.
Sage.
Sweep.
Mop.
Sage.
Sweep.
Mop.
Sage.
Sweep.
Mop.
Sage.
Sweep.
Mop.
Sage.
Sweep.
Mop.
Sage.
Sweep.
Mop.
Sage.
Sweep.
Mop.
Sage.
Sweep.
Mop.
Sage.
Sweep.
Mop.
Sage.
Sweep.
Mop.
Sage.
Sweep.
Mop.
Sage.
Sweep.
Mop.
Sage.
Sweep.
Mop.
Sage.
Sweep.
Mop.
Sage.
Sweep.
Mop.
Sage.
Sweep.
Mop.
Sage.
*written on the occasion of my 22nd move, May 1, 2022
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