The apartment saga takes a weird turn.→[More:] Today is the day we turn in the rent and after consultation with MeChazen and lawyer Lassie, we had decided that we weren't going to pay for the broken lock, since legally it's the landlord's responsibility. So after a week of tying myself up in knots, I took a mental health day yesterday. I ran into the landlord's son on the stoop where he was having a cigar, he engaged me in long friendly conversation about my job. I was knocked off balance.

Today, I brought down the rent (without the cost of the lock) and with a knot in my belly. Knocking on the door, I was told to come on in. I expected a grave 'you have two months to leave' coversation. Instead I saw our landlady sitting in a chair in obvious discomfort with a huge ace bandage on her knee and felt a tremendous wave of sympathy for her. (She also took the check without comment). I asked if she wanted me to get a doctor or get her anything from the store. She thanked me and said she was OK. I mentioned that my 90+ grandpa and pips' 90+ mom sometimes had pain, too and that it must be rough. She said "Maybe 80 is long enough to live, what you gotta live longer for?" I gestured at her TV, "How about if something good's on?" Which brought a chuckle, and she wished me a good day and I went to the store for coffee and cigarettes.

I guess maybe they had second thoughts and we're OK for awhile.