Sometimes you just have to walk away...

You might be kicking and screaming-but when you've gotta go, you've just gotta go. Nobody said that life is going to be easy. Believe me. I know.

I've had a hellish time since I wrote last. For one thing, we've had a constant heatwave since the beginning of June: higher than 90F, which will amuse my friends in Florida and the east coast no end. That's probably like a cold snap in the middle of summer over there. But I am really terrible in the heat.

I like having the sun shine. I just don't like severe heat and humidity. When my hair starts to frizz (over 20C or 68F), I start to sweat. And I do mean sweat. I don't glow, I don't have a lovely sheen, I leave a sweat trail wherever I go. That isn't a nice look, trust me. And my balance pays the price, as does my vision. I also get very ratty. I've got a short fuse anyway; when I'm too hot and sticky, I've got no fuse at all. If there's any air conditioning, I will find it. But this is England, and they finally woke up to the importance of not having everyone dying of heat stroke, so the big stores have a/c. I can always tell someone who is inside wandering around, picking up stuff but not buying anything; they're the ones who are suffering from the heat and trying desperately not to keel. over. I'm one of them. Misery doesn't always love company.

Between the severe heat, the humidity, and the ugliest people you have ever seen practically walking around naked, it's been a very unpleasant few weeks. I'm looking forward to cooler weather (if I don't melt into a puddle on the ground first)-then I'll be moaning about it being too cold. I promise I won't. If I want to moan about cold weather, I'll remember this summer from hell and I'll keep my mouth shut-and be grateful.

I said that sometimes you have to just know when to walk away-and go, even if you're kicking and screaming, because there is no point in fighting a losing battle.This has been that kind of month.

I helped my neighbors, who were having a terrible problem with drug addicts and dealers doing their business right outside their windows. Terry Two Face, my obnoxious and revolting next door neighbor, kept strutting around (still does, too-like a demented peacock. Or, rather, cockroach), telling everyone that he is in charge, but doing nothing except expelling a lot of hot air. So when these neighbors (his friends, sadly) asked me for help, I couldn't say sod off and make Terry do something. I knew that he's completely incompetent, so I started emailing the people in charge, and less than a week later, those in charge paid us a visit.

Things are happening. A security light was put on the wall outside these neighbors' windows, and it switches on when someone walks by. Yay. Success. It's a beginning, but the beginning of some security that is needed in an area where the residents are disabled.  Am I proud of myself? Yes, and I worked hard for eight weeks (nearly nine) to make it happen. But...

I got a repeated thank you from Pete and his girlfriend, but not from anyone else. I didn't expect a thank you, I didn't do anything for thanks. But Pete and Teresa contact me every time they need something. When they ask me to come over for a cup of tea, there's always a motive. Always. Their neighbor is called Sandra, and the drug problem was happening outside her kitchen window. So you would think that she would say thanks-just as a matter of courtesy. No, she didn't acknowledge me at all. But she is good friends with Terry Two Face, and we don't speak at all, so there's no surprise at all. Only-last week I got a text from Pete. Come for a glass of wine (it was Friday evening). And I didn't feel like going over there, because I had a feeling that there was an agenda in place. How right I was.

Pete was very insistent. Please come for just one glass. So I went (if a sucker is born every minute, I must have been born twice). No sooner than I sat down, Teresa poured the last glass of wine from the fourth bottle that was out on the table. Sandra was there, so was her friend Carole, and everyone was pretty wasted. They'd been drinking for hours, they said. Teresa poured the wine and immediately told me that Sandra's friend is constantly battered; could I help get her a place nearby. They all started, singing my praises, saying that if anyone could help, it would be me.

To shorten a long story: Carole has no documentation, no police reports, photos, doctor's reports, or evidence of any kind. And I first met Carole two years ago, and it was the same story then, and hasn't changed in two years.

Well, I said that she needs proof: documentation, witnesses, GP's report, police reports...I said that she has to do things in the proper order, because she also said that if anyone put her in a hostel, she would kill herself. I listened to all this crap for over two hours, and then I made my excuses and left.

The point of the story? My neighbor Ellen, who is 85 and very wise (not wise enough to quit smoking when she has COPD), stopped me the next day and told me that I shouldn't let these people use me. Did I tell her the story? No, I did not. But she knows that several people have come to me, moaning about things that are broken, or don't work, or should be changed...Ellen said that it's the people who are trying to save the world (even a small part of it), who want to help everyone who needs it (if they can), who are used and then thrown away. She pointed out that people don't like the renegades of the world, even though the renegades are the ones who create change in the world. People who push, who forge ahead regardless of opposition, who make things happen-they're the ones people don't want as friends, or to socialize with because they're only useful when they can do something for someone else.

Ellen finished by saying that I'm looking very pale and stressed, and that I need to stop what I'm doing and start doing the things that I enjoy. Let the users take action themselves, she said. And that was that.

So, after nearly nine weeks of being up to my eyeballs in the neighbor situation, I am taking Ellen's good advice and I'm walking away. She is right. I've had quite enough of being used. All these people are old enough to do things themselves. If they're not willing to do that-well, don't come to me and expect me to stop living and help them. They can shove their flattery and platitudes up their asses-not that I didn't realize what was going on, because I can spot an agenda from a mile away. But be honest. Play nice. And fuck off.

So there you go. It's so hot outside, that you could fry an egg on the sidewalk. And if you're really either stupid or crazy, you could probably eat it, too.

I'll be back soon. I'm on my way to Starbucks. It's air conditioned.