Clusterf*ck Extraordinaire

So originally this was going to be a post all about how much I love Peru, and to make you all drool with jealousy as I wax poetic about sandboarding in the Peruvian desert... but instead, I feel the need to share with you life's inexplicable drive to temper every amazing experience with a little bit of dog shit.

You see, it seems that, despite all appearances, my subletter has turned out to be batshit crazy.

Oh, and an alocholic and a drug addict to boot.

I received this mind-blowing news around midnight of my last night in Brazil--when I was slightly drunk from our last-night-out festivities--and proceeded to have a complete and total mental breakdown to which Slater was witness and caretaker.  I am doing better with it now, but there is still a little part of me that is in shock.

Today I finally received a response to my two highly-apologetic emails to my landlord, first saying that she felt I intentionally mislead them about subletting (I didn't!!) and second detailing just some of the lunacy that has unfolded over the past several weeks, including:

• Crazy Fucking Subletter (CFL) wandering around the street barefoot and without underwear, completely disoriented and unaware of her surroundings, so that one of the landlords had to collect her and return her to the apartment, subsequently missing a day of work.  At this point he noticed that the apartment was filthy and my poor kitty apparently not well-cared-for.
• CFL and friends on the roof, and CFL later being out on the fire escape knocking on windows of other apartments, discombobulated, while her friends were still in my apartment.
• Perhaps as a result of the above, or perhaps due to some other incident, the neighbors have called the police on CFL, so the cops have been in the building taking her of her.

CFL has now been removed from my apartment by the landlords, and for the next week and a half of my absense my lovely friends will be stopping by to look after my poor neglected kitty so that hopefully she doesn't hate me when I get back.

I am somewhat terrified as to what, exactly, I am going to return to.  Are my landlords going to kick me out for this?  Has my apartment been completely trashed?  Are things missing, broken, or stolen?  Is my cat malnourished and miserable?  These are all of the thoughts cycling in the back of my head as I am off on this great adventure.  I am sitting here in one of the most beautiful places I have ever seen, but part of my brain is back in New York, wondering what sort of shit storm awaits me when I get back, and wondering why it is that whenever something in my life is going so wonderfully, something else has to go straight down the shitter alongside it?