One sure way to tell that spring is back is horny ducks.
Most of the year they are a bit squawky and splashy, but when spring hits they start hollerin’ all over the place. So far I have been spared duck sex, which is…ah…best and most kindly described as violent.
But right now the duck boys are all in with the yelling and the fighting, and it is noisy. So loud.
I thought it was hilarious that a bunch of them were arguing over the filthy plastic bin at the pet fountain like a rowdy group of old men:
A rite of spring, to be sure.
But spring it is, and I’m not looking forward to the weather switching up to “lethally hot”, especially since my A/C unit is, I think, on its last legs. My landlord is a typical landlord in that he won’t replace anything until it is well and truly broken, so I figure I’m in for a long, luke-warm summer.
I’ve lived in this apartment for 15 years, which is longer than I’ve ever lived anywhere, period. How weird is that? It still doesn’t feel like a home, and I continue to think of it was a way station on the road to other (hopefully better) places. But a home it most definitely is, one way or another, and I do live in regular fear that the property will get sold and I’ll have to move.
It’s not that I don’t want to move, but rather, I was hoping my next move would be to my own house, property that I bought and paid for. Given my student loan debt and lack of credit, is not likely to happen in my lifetime. I do not actually like being a renter. I don’t think any place I rent will ever be “home” no matter how long I live there.