lessons learned from being a landlord
no toilet is big enough for these turds
I’ve learned a new lesson lately.
Never make plans from bed.
Recently, I was going to be late meeting up with my dad.
We have an income property.
Well…
It was supposed to be an income property.
It’s more of an outgo property.
Instead of providing an income, it’s been a constant cause of strife. It’s less of a money pit and more of a money crater.
Part is due to housing crusaders. I was going to have low rent for an acquaintance upstairs, my office in the back part of downstairs and an air bnb to help subsidize the whole thing.
Apparently me running an Air b and b out of a basement that I finished and was never part of the housing stock was taking homes away from poor people.1 Never mind the fact that I was providing below market rent to a single mom and her three kids, air bnb’s are the problem!
The Hilton family must make huge contributions to our local NDP…
Yep, the housing crisis was all me, owing nothing to a lack of federal investment for thirty years or our country adding 11% of our population through immigration over the course of four years.
Anyway as the tenant with the teen children left, their actions resulted in three smashed windows and a deck that was set on fire with lighter fluid. It was either their teens or people their teens had been in conflict with as egged on by mom.
So, I’ve spend the last month attempting to mitigate their damage and unload the property before becoming bankrupt.
Then there’s the issue of the basement alcoholic parasite. But that’s a whole other issue.2
Anyway, I’ve been working 15 hour days attempting to prep this for market and get on with whatever comes next after being a psychotherapist.3
Two things I’ve learned
One: I love doing handyman work. That may be my new career. The pay can be good and the work satisfying. I’m also trying to put together an out back bicycle tourism business. Money needs may scuttle this ‘big dream’. But this much stress, this much caring for people who don’t care for me? I don’t know that I have room for either big dreams or humour right meow.
Two: Never make plans from bed.
The other day I slept in until 8am. It was stunning. My watch have me a sleep score of 51. I slept six hours! HOLY SHIT! I was so stoked. It was the first sleep score that wasn’t in the 30’s since acquiring the watch. It was the first night I slept more than four hours in months.
So naturally?
I panicked.
I was supposed to meet my father in ten minutes.
I told him to give me a hour.
Then?
Then I got up and went to the toilet.
That’s when things got quick and slow at the same time.
My digestive tract moved quickly and my day slowed down.
Apparently the pulled pork sandwich from Ikea is full of soy.
And me and soy do not tangle well.
Soy does not like being part of me or my body and rushes through as quickly as it can.
It took me an hour and a half to leave the house and I was forty minutes late to meet my dad.
Sorry dad.
It wasn’t you.
It wasn’t me.
It was the soy’s fault.
And?
I chose to let the soy into my body.
Just like I chose to let these shitty people in my life.
Unfortunately, I can not rid myself of these human turds with just a flush.
BOTTOM LINE: DO NOT RENT TO POOR PEOPLE ON SOCIAL ASSISTANCE. Sure, you may be taking all of the emotional and financial risk here but you know, housing is a right - as in alcoholics and the lazy have the right to your house so you and your children can live in a tent.
Am I a little jaded here?
Yup.
Do not ever attempt to be kind to an alcoholic. Let them hit rock bottom. If they lose a couple fingers or toes or all of their shit while living in a tent? That’s fine. Do not let them drag you down with them. Especially if you’re attempting to understand what’s going on with your family and have spent eight months wondering what’s happening with your child only to find they have diabetes.
Really, let the fucker die if you must but DO NOT help someone unwilling to help themselves. Alcoholism is a disease with collateral damage. Let the alci die. Ditto crack head. Ditto any addict. If their parents didn’t have thc capacity to love them enough, neither do you.
Career transition is hard. And I only want to see a limited number of clients per month and that number isn’t enough to provide for my family, an alcoholic an a family of feral, unparented brats.