Caterwauling

Paranormal activity continues. I’m about to call an exorcist. Or the man named Judy who owns a biker bar. Whatever it will take to cure my heartburn. 

In good news, I was surfing the MLS and I saw a three-day-old listing for the upstairs apartment. Lawd have mercy and praise Jesus. 

The photos are wrong. But I see the HOA used the same set of photos to advertise eight other units. Anyway. 2409 is on the list of 25 open units. 

I probably won’t get any sleep again tonight. And forget taking a nap. I haven’t had a nap in seven months thanks to them. But at this point, I’ll settle for not having to breathe into a bag. Preferably plastic so the nightmare ends, one way or another. 

I feel like I’ve been lied to. Thundercunt and Big Giant Pussy and Fraggle and Baby Who Cries Like Daddy are stomping, screaming and dropping shit like their life depends on it. 

I saw ugly furniture tossed downstairs yesterday. I saw more shit down there today. 

I have been telling myself they must be cleaning. But they barely wash their asses. I can’t imagine them wanting to un-trash that house. 

They sound like they roll oil drums and drag pallets all around those new wood floors. And I can tell you the only rugs they have are bathmat-sized, since they hang those filthy things over their balcony. 

I had a nervous breakdown today. I’m talking full-on yam fit. In public. I have wasted seven months feeling like these fuckballs are in my house with me. I can’t do five more. 

Here’s the thing. I gave away my Samantha. Stewie needs to go to the glue factory sooner rather than later but I don’t want a car payment. Mom is falling apart and she still doesn’t have healthcare and I don’t use mine because I feel guilty. I have shit in storage in Pittsburgh I need to somehow bring down here. 

In other words, I already moved. I cannot put moving back on top of my to-do list. Everyone’s looking at me to solve every problem and I am a sobbing ball of anxiety. 

I try to remind myself I have an income. A payday will arrive this week and, God willing, again two weeks after that. 

I don’t blame the thud muffins for this place being so shittily built. I do however HATE them for knowing they are obnoxious and taking pride in it. 

I mean, it sounds like they are nailing crosses together up there right now. And playing basketball. 

I want to go up there and reenact a slasher film. No survivors. 

They don’t sound like they are going anywhere. And I think I’m going insane. 

Pray for me and mom, if you’re so inclined. 

Those fuckers upstairs’ lease was up yesterday. But I awakened to screaming at 5 a.m. per usue and now music is thumping. 

Now my heart is pounding — again, per usue — and I’m wide awake. 

My seven-month nightmare apparently has not come to an end. The only thing left to do is pray they overstayed their welcome by one day. And to hire an exorcist.