Garbage Nazi!

You'd think what with my fibromyalgia and my memory problems (for instance: I can't find Tuesday. It's totally GONE. I know what I did Monday and I know what I did on Wednesday. Tuesday is just...Bye-Bye!) (Oh, and I couldn't figure out how to lock my own front door yesterday. It just looked foreign to me, and I didn't know which way to turn the key! Creepy, huh?) I would have bigger things to do with my time other than snark about garbage. But it seems it's not just the whale-watchers garbage that is troubling me, it's the new guy at the end of the building who thinks the patio near the laundry room is his OWN PRIVATE SPACE. Which it's not. We all used to share it.

He moved in, put up a table chair and ashtray, and from that day forth it's his smoking patio. Recently, it's become a lumber yard.

And, as soon as he moved in, the garbage started to end up BESIDE the dumpster instead of INSIDE the dumpster. Arrrgggh!

How can people live like this? It's a mystery to me!