Sometimes, when I'm hating on myself, and reflecting on the fact that I'm 40-something with no assets to show for it, I get kind of discouraged. And then something that costs thousands of dollars breaks or needs to be replaced, and instead of shelling out my own money and taking a day off to wait for repairmen, I call the landlord and say, "ha ha! Your problem!" and voila! it gets fixed. And then I don't feel so bad.
But then there are days (nights?) like this. Because it is 3:12 a.m. and the current occupant of the other half of my duplex is not only effin weird, but rude and loud and pissing me off.
Then again, he's good for helping me feel un-loser-ish, because he's in his early 50s and is a newspaper delivery boy. Trouble with that is, my former paper, which is what he delivers, is a morning paper. Drop-dead press deadline is 11 pm and the thing starts hitting doorsteps around 1:30 a.m.
I am rather the night owl, but jeebus, you know? I do generally like to get to sleep before 1:30 a.m. And I am highly sensitive to loud noises. It's bad enough there's an a$$hole across the alley with an unmufflered motorcycle, but he's got nothing on Mr. Delivery Boy, who for the last 3 nights has gotten into a shouting match with another driver around 2 a.m. Plus, the driver leaves the van running, and it needs a tuneup in the worst way.
If the yelling and the engine noises aren't enough, the dude is so loud I can hear every word of every one of his phone conversations through the living room wall.
There are a lot of other ways he's a freak, but it's the noise that bugs me most. And as I retreat to my living room at 3:17 a.m., hoping to get some sleep out *here,* I remind myself that if I had actually picked a non-slave-wage profession and graduated from college on time, I could have my own, single-family home, with no noises coming through the walls.
Sigh.
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