How do you get evicted for cleaning too much, craig!?!? lol 😂

STAND UP FOR YOURSELF, GEEZ.
(G-E-E-Z — not G’s. There’s no money in this story, unfortunately.)

How do you get evicted for cleaning too much?
Or, as Smokey said in Friday, “How you gonna get fired on your day off, Craig?”

Yeah. That’s me.
Apparently, I’m too tidy to live here.

Let me back up.

When I moved into this temporary spot after leaving North Carolina, I had one goal: regulate my emotions and figure out what the next chapter of my life was supposed to look like. Simple enough.

The house was perfect on paper — big, airy, lots of windows, great energy.
The two young men I share it with are fantastic. Responsible. Clean. Fitness-minded. They even love my German Shepherd, Charlie — which is the real test of character.
They’ve known each other since middle school, both in their late twenties, and one of them (I won’t name names) comes from a very famous Black-owned brand family. Let’s just say, he could buy this whole block in cash but moved out to prove his independence. I respect that.

But when I arrived, let’s just say the “open space” was also open to cobwebs, black mold on the ceiling fans, and dirt thick enough to write poetry in.
So I did what any OCD, neurodivergent, Leo-leaning, clean-freak poet would do — I deep-cleaned.
I hired a friend to help.
I replaced the crusty shower curtain the real estate agent had draped over my bedroom window. (Yes, you read that right. A shower curtain.)
And I bought blinds that were clearly too expensive for this ZIP code.

Now, let’s talk about that real estate agent — the racist one, not the homeowner.

When I first arrived — after already paying for the space in advance through Furnished Finder — she walked me through the house, giving that fake friendly realtor smile.
As we stepped outside, she glanced at a line of people at the church across the street and said, “Yeah, this area gets a lot of walkers.”

I snapped my neck so fast I almost gave myself whiplash.
“Walkers?” I said.
She goes, “Yeah, you know — those people out there.”
And I said, “Those people are my people. They’re Black folks standing in line to get fresh fruits and vegetables from a church.”
She stuttered, “Oh, well, you know what I mean.”
And I said, “No, actually, I don’t know what you mean.”

I should’ve known right then she was going to be a problem.

Fast forward: she sets up this whole inflammatory situation about these curtains I removed.
Now she’s going back and forth with the homeowner like she’s auditioning for Real Housewives of Property Management.

For the record, the owner is a traveling nurse who hasn’t even been in Georgia for years. She doesn’t see what’s going on — she just gets the stories filtered through this woman.
And I can’t prove anything (yet), but if you’re collecting $3,045 a month for this house, why can’t you fix a leaky kitchen faucet, replace a broken refrigerator, or buy four blinds?
There’s a Lowe’s in every neighborhood, ma’am.

Anyway, a few weeks later, I’m suddenly being “asked to vacate.”
Sixty days’ notice.
For cleaning.

I moved into a house that looked like a haunted frat house and turned it into something resembling Pinterest.
Apparently, that’s grounds for eviction.

Now, to be clear — I’m not dragging anyone’s name, just the absurdity of it all.
The two young men I live with are wonderful, but they don’t know the rights they have as tenants.
Meanwhile, I’m over here reading Georgia housing laws like I’m prepping for the LSAT, highlighting sentences like I’m about to cross-examine the landlord on Judge Mathis.
Even if I have to make up a few statutes to sound convincing.

A friend suggested I “fall on the sword” and apologize.
Not for cleaning — but for unintentionally shaking a system that’s allergic to accountability.
So I’ve requested a private conversation with the homeowner.

We’ll see how that goes.

In the meantime, I’m laughing at the irony.
I moved here to regulate my emotions, and now I’m one phone call away from standing on University and 85 South with a cardboard sign that says:

“Will write poems for rent.”

Still, this is a reminder to stand up for yourself — GEEZ.
Because sometimes your fight for fairness improves life for more than just you.
Even if it’s just the two young men learning that they, too, have rights.

And if it all goes left, at least the house will be spotless when I leave.

Come over tonight — we’re reading poems, sharing food, and laughing through the madness.
CODAW Open Mic, my living room edition.
Because the revolution, as it turns out, might just start with clean blinds. - LOL