OK, first of all, I don’t really approve of that term, and I have the utmost sympathy for children with clear emotional problems, as well as those who have an under-enriched home environment, but all of this pinko rhetoric has been utterly overrode by my extreme hostility for the people in the apartment above me.
All the friggin’ time the little bastards, instead of reading, doing homework, or going outside for their daily doses of activity, torture me with their sugar-induced cacophony of thumps, bumps and yelps. All evening long, from the time they get home till the time their keeper finally binds them to their cots at midnight, I hear them rattling the crap on my walls with their knuckle-dragging and banging.
Is it my fault their double-wide was most likely burned down by their crappy little mentally-stunted offspring while playing with matches? No. Yet, do I have to listen to their hootenannies and “wrastling”? Yes. Do I enjoy it? No. Can I do anything about it? No.
This situation confirms for me that, if this world could be established based on the meritocracy it should be based upon, I wouldn’t be bothered by that bumpkin family, but, rather, benefit from their labour or organ donations, and not actually have to see (or hear) them.
As it is, I have to grin and bear it. Why? Because certain breeders have firm faith in the divine right of the nasty little litter they have squeezed out to bother everything and everyone in their paths, and that people like me, who feel nothing but a burning distain for their kind of insensitive brutes as a whole, are “just plain mean.” Mean? Moi? Just because I want to enjoy the apartment I pay a great deal of money for, free of the cave-man sounds of video-game-inspired aggression and antiquated “cowboys and injuns” fights from upstairs? Just because I don’t have tolerance for constant banging of obese and violent children taking each other down in some primitive war-training-ritual above my head for ten hours a day?
My knuckles are white, my stomach is aching, and my nerves are stretched, despite having spoken to them about this, and I am the mean one, huh? Well, then mean I am, but at least I am not a sweat-suit-clad vidiot-kid without the sense to just go the hell to bed, or a bleach-blond hairspray museum who gave birth to a series of vidiot children, but is too busy on the phone with Darla to make them behave.
I think I’m comfortable with that, if not with the noise levels.
4 comments:
hmm... a 50-something single man just moved into the apartment above mine, and he's loud all by himself. i think he's losing his hearing, if the volume of his radio (on which he listens to "classic country") is any indication... and he keeps really weird hours. yesterday morning i was awakened at approximately 5 am by the sounds of his various thumps and bangs... and his alarm clock. and with all of this 5 am activity, you'd think the guy would go to bed early, but no. he's still banging around up there after 11 pm. i guess i should be glad he doesn't have hellion children living with him. he makes me appreciate the guy who used to live there - he worked offshore and was gone for weeks at a time.
I'm so sorry you lost the oil man. He seemed so ideal!
Yes, it is very weird that old people get up so early but then don't sleep at night. Maybe it has something to do with their not growing any more?
Hey, Science Queen, give us a guess.
It has long been my opinion that old people barely sleep because they are super aware of their own mortality and want to be awake as much as possible before the Eternal Slumber.
Hey, that's my reason for insomnia, too. Leonard Cohen once said that refusing to sleep is the only real act of rebellion, because it refuses death.
Besides, refusing to sleep give you something like an extra five hours a day to get work done. Don't know I'd have gotten that last degree without it!
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