Everyone in their 40s is a landlord. Hear me out.
If you’ve turned that page in your life, you know what I’m talking about. That “exist”ential pain, not the deep kind, the one that just exists.
That small niggle you don’t know where you picked up. It bugs you, bothers you. You try to ignore it, but it lives on. When you try a few things to get rid of it, it wrestles with you. It stays.
Eventually, you give up. You sublet your body to it.
You become the landlord for a tenant you never chose, who never leaves, and somehow always has complaints.