Amurehna

I'm in my apartment but it doesn't feel like home.
It feels like I spent a lot of time somewhere else and returned here, finally, to all my things.
I'm in the living room late at night, very few lights are on. A woman tells me that there are spiders but she has dealt with most of them. The only one left is in my room. I observe her from the other end of the hall. She opens a green container that she has caught the spider in. All in all, it is not a very large specimen, having maybe a 2 to 3 inch leg span. She shrieks when it leaps from the container onto a boxspring leaning against the wall, then she murders the spider with a woodcutting axe.
I laugh a lot internally, thinking "Oh. Okay. That was a bit excessive."
I wander around the once familiar, now foreign, apartment. I want to sleep but I know there are spiders and I know I won't sleep soundly with them crawling around.

There's a lapse and I find myself viewing a new apartment that is supposed to be better. Yet it is cramped and oddly shaped. Many of the fixtures are broken and there is water everywhere. I'm with a co-worker who used to be my manager. He tries to convince me this place is better, that I'll finally have a real landlord, but I don't quite believe him. It is rundown and leaky and falling to pieces. I remember walking into a wedge shaped bathroom, so narrow that I could hardly fit between the vanity and the wall, the vanity top was chipping, marbled blue-green. When I looked around the apartment I saw all the countertops were that same color, along with one concrete room with a round concrete tub at its center.