Venting: Dear Neighbors, I loathe you.

My goal is to be done with bitterness and hatred by Spring Break so I can enjoy my week. So, let me just get it out of my system.

Dear Neighbors,

I loathe you.

I loathe you and your three broken down cars that you insist on parking in front of my house.

I loathe you and your damn pitbull that bit my dog and tried to attack a second time. (Also, you still owe me for the vet bill. By Thursday, it will be week 3 that you have not paid. Ms. Wonderful Animal Control lady will be visiting again, people).

I loathe your hammering on your porch until 11 p.m.

I loathe your alcohol bottles that get thrown from the upstairs window onto the grassy strip we share. We both know that your middle school children are illegally consuming alcohol. You, dear neighbors, deserve parent of the year!

I hate that your children came into my beautiful garden, picked my crimson tulips and vibrant daffodils, trampled the stems and leaves, and then PULLED SEVERAL BULBS OUT OF THE BED.

I hate they way you intentionally bitch about us loud enough for us to hear.

I hate that your yard is a mess all the time.

But most of all, I hate that you don’t know much better. I hate that this is your life and you choose to live it this way. You are lucky to live in America. Take advantage of the freedoms.

Please don’t be my neighbors anymore. You depress me.

Affectionately,

Kathryn (your flowerless neighbor)

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