Oh la, I've been my boss this week while she is off gallivanting with her family (on holiday - the decadence). Today was beastly, way too busy & flustery & I was reminded why I always fuss & sulk when asked to fill in - yes I get paid more but no way is it adequate compensation for the crapulance and hassle that comes with it. How boss lady copes I don't know but there'll be no more holidays for her for a while, that's fer sure!
The day didn't start off well either, the neighbours were at it again. At 2-ish I woke up feeling uneasy, stressed, icky. I could hear a sort of rumbling mumbling in the background. Slowly it began to make sense. It was her again with the the constant, monotonous, unending repetition of fucking cunt this and that, arsehole and all the rest of it on and on and on.
Not so much loud this time. It's colder and the windows & doors are shut, so the bile & hatred just seeps through the double-brick wall that separates us and seeps into my brain, ultimately waking me up with a feeling of foreboding.
It's the the rage, the unrelenting loathing that gets to me (& the noise too, clearly). I can't get to sleep when it's going on. I feel too nervous too pressed down by her disgust & her hatred. It makes my heart beat too fast.
And then, when it finally dribbles away, I lie there, awake groping in the dark for Mr Brown & a pusscat or two, for something warm and lovely and not brimming with fury. Something to make my heart beat a little faster but in a good way, just trying to bring on a warm & fuzzy feeling so I can drift off to sleep again and not have nightmares.
It's nights like this I don't mind that I'm hemmed in by a solid wall of Mr Brown on one side & a couple of bed-hogging cats on the other! It's nights like this I'm glad my little sister introduced me to Mr Brown 17 years ago - who'da thunk?
Friday, April 21
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3 comments:
Awww. While it is awful, ghastly and wicked of those revolting neighbours to behave so cruelly to each other (is that a word?) I think it is lovely that you can seek solace in that warm place squished between Mr Brown and the kitty kats. Thank god for such sandwiches.
Are the neighbours not aware how their behaviour affects others?
How appalling of them.
The neighbours are drunks. I strongly suspect they have no idea the next morning what went on the night before. I plan to tape it all one night & play it back at them, top volume, bright & early the next morning. Mr Brown, bastard diplomat, won't let me. Perhaps I could just slip the tape into their letterbox.
oh, sometimes we samich the furry girls between us, just cos we can, it's luvly.
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