Caterwauling

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Landlord called to say banshees are out by October 1. I confirmed with the HOA that those fuckers are here till October 31. 

If they squat, or if this turns out in any way to be false or otherwise not happening, I’m gone. I mean it.

Psycho neighbors always tell security and the cops that they aren’t the ones guilty of the noise. The HOA lady said the same thing, that the letters they send to outline noncompliance with the lease get returned with “not us.”

Mom asks how they stop screaming long enough to answer. 

I have videos I’ve taken from outside their door. With the unit number and the pussy husband whining how horse face doesn’t love him and “this is bullshit.”

Speaking of bullshit …

12 more weeks of no sleep, tattered nerves, a cat on Prozac and a mom who takes strokes (literally the TIA type) because of the noise. Yay. 

when i am torn between needing a nap (thanks neighbors) or punching the next person who says they are using their “use it or lose it” vacation time as mine swirls down the drain. 

Also, day seven of no working toilets at work or home. 

Why can’t I win? Whyyyyyy?

There’s this person I met a long time ago. Everyone on my team got into an argument with this guy at one point or another. He was kind of the unofficial poster child for all that is wrong with the workforce.

I’m not saying he didn’t work or didn’t do good work when it matters. But that’s the thing. This is someone who had been so ass-fucked by corporate America that he gave the exact minimum. No less and certainly no more.

When my team was working late and say sent a late-timestamped e-mail that would be acknowledged between 9 a.m. and 5 p.m., people like him (if not him directly) would whine that YOU PEOPLE MUST LIKE WORKING LATE.

*bitchslap*

In any event, one of my people got into such a heated argument with him that I could hear the yelling down the hall. Not my people, mind you. YOU PEOPLE, as I would say.

This was a long long time ago. But I haven’t forgotten it. It was when I decided to eliminate their job.

Not as their supervisor, because I wasn’t. But to teach myself enough so that I’d never have to talk to them again.

There’s a company in Seattle that said it’s raising everyone’s salary to at least $70,000. It came out today that two of their top performers quit. After all, why reward the clock-watchers without commensurately (at least) rewarding the stars?

I give them credit for quitting. I probably would too.

I think it would go against everything in me to scale back and let others catch up to me. I get that you have to be a good corporate citizen. But I just think of it as something else to excel at.

Sometimes, though, I do worry that I could become so disenchanted with being a corporate citizen that I could become that way:

• Overimpressed with my own output.
• Guarded when it comes to my not just off-work time, but also work time.
• Even more guarded where it comes to sharing ideas.
• Or just not even having any ideas anymore. Or any good ones.
• And being too pissed off at the world — or too numb to it — too care.

I don’t think it will happen. I still worry and question everything and work hard and do my best. But I see myself fizzling out.

Something tiny happened today that only I would notice. (I intend to keep it that way — fix it, but shut my trap about it and fix it rather than whine about it.)

And I thought about that guy none of us could stand. I could hear him saying, “Oh well. Not my job. Someone has to take charge of it but not me.” Because, I’ve heard it before.

Lord, never let me make it to that point.

Because I pay for this space and I can do whatever the heck I want.

1. I swear I saw the banshee neighbors in Wal-Mart. Although they acted way too civilized. They only had one kid, if so. I’ve noticed they leave the little bastards on their own (ages 1 and 5) sometimes. Mom worries but I’d rather have two of those idiots than all four.

2. I met a cute boy today. So cute. I mean, so freaking cute I can’t stand it. My type. Totally my type. And the ass on that guy. Mmmm. Damn.

3. I haven’t painted my nails or put on makeup or done a damn thing with my hair in weeks. I mean I shaved and put on clean clothes. And I’m pretty sure I showered at some point this weekend. But yeah. Just when I’ve all but given up on myself, interesting things can happen.

4. I think he’s too young for me. But damn. Mmmm. Funny, sweet, cute and interested in me. I’m going to try not too think too much about it. Outside of alone time, anyway, I’m sure.

5. I need a vacation. I’ve lost more than 90 days of promised vacation time. Wonder how to orchestrate a full week away without actually having to log in every single day for 10-12 hours a day. I’d prefer to go to PA but I think I am going to do a Florida adventure. Because, Mom and cat. Of course, with 30 days to burn before November, wouldn’t it be cool to be able to do it all?

I think the fact that I haven’t slept a full night in the four months I’ve lived here, not to mention all the sleep I lost over needing to move in the first place, has caught up with me.

To cope, I’ve been eating my feelings. And apparently everyone else’s.

I had lost a bunch of weight before my birthday. I’ve gained it back. And then some.

Which you know, is sure to make me feel even better about life.

I don’t post my real problems. I guess I just hope they go away.

Mom said, in all her psychicness, that I’m about to snap if I don’t do something. But what?

I try to live by the “focus on yourself, not others” mantra. But I can’t. Those fuckers upstairs are in my head, in my house and on my last nerve. I think of what I’d say to them if I weren’t so afraid of them. I think of what to say to the useless landlord/HOA so that it comes out flawlessly the next time I pick up my poison pen. I jump 20 feet every time one of their little bastard children bangs the sliding glass door and smashes a vase or whatever against their hardwood floors. (Which happens more often than you might think.)

I called the realtor who got me into this mess to tell her what a fuckup it’s been. She said she’d look for new places but let’s be honest. I was the one who found all the ones we toured together.

Every day I have to remind myself that things could be worse. But you know, having kids clearly isn’t in the cards for me. Thankfully neither is having an abusive spouse or being the most-hated neighbor in the world.

But I am in their violent relationship and I have to hear their kids screaming like they live in a goddamned jungle because they weren’t raised right. I have to deal with the fact that the kids nap at 7 p.m. so they can wake up at 11 and bang on the floor till 2 a.m. And I get to pay dearly for the privilege.

The more I focus on the negative, the worse my life gets. Everything else is going wrong too. I’m not sure how much more I can take.

In any event, I will get through this. Or, at least, away from this. But do you ever get the feeling that life is punishing you because you’re on the wrong path? If so, perhaps life can throw me a hint to get on the right one so I can stop throwing good money after bad and ignoring what’s important?!

Back in the days of real bloggers, interesting people and even more interesting stories, a girl I knew posted a photo of her tear-stained face.

But she was happy. She had cried out all the crap.

I can’t remember her exact caption. It started off, “And just like that …” and ended with joy or hope or at least a clean slate.

So I have been in neighbor and other misery, right? Well on top of the shit day that yesterday was, my broken wisdom tooth started throbbing.

But as I was walking back from the cafe (where I have to use the bathroom since my building sucks), a guy walked up to me to hand me a card from a new dentist up the road — and the dentist does endo work.

OMG SIGN FROM ABOVE that things could get better?

I was pondering my friend’s photo caption, “And just like that …” and how things can change on a dime.

I mean one day I was Pinhead-enraged. The next I was Pinhead-free. Yesterday my tooth ached; yesterday afternoon, a solution may have been placed right into my hand during what was otherwise a nuisance trip that cost me too much work time.

So in a fit of hysteria, I wrote on Faceypages about the horrendous living situation and ended it with, “I need a new everything.”

And just like that, I awakened to a job offer in another state.

Well that’s one way to get rid of the neighbors.

I don’t know the guy who’s asking. I mean, I know his NAME. It’s a small field. His people and my people have crossed paths a few times.

We’ve never met and I’ve never worked there. But he heard good things from people he trusts and wants to see where my head is at.

I don’t know if I’ll reply because when I am truly ready for a new everything, I don’t think it should include “what I have already done for the past 20 years.”

But when you think about it, wow. And just like that, everything really could change.

Whether it’s the right change or just change for the sake of it, however, remains to be seen.

No sleep. When the banshees did let their screaming abate and I was lulled into a false sense of relaxation, they threw something heavy at the floor at 4 a.m.

Diiiiiieeeee.

Get to work. Place still stinks. I go find a worker who was supposed to be helping. He doesn’t help but asks me on a date.

Second one to ask.

Because, girl who hangs out alone all day is an easy target, I guess. I hate leaving the door unlocked but damn the stink in this building is enough to choke a whore.

Not a single ladies’ restroom is available on any floor. I have been holding my bladder all day — was supposed to run errands at lunch but no lunch break — so it was easy to reject the date because it was either that or homicide.

Homicide is still sounding like a great idea anyway. I’ve got a long list and a whole lot of anger to let out.

Another night of playing “how many times can I call the cops on the jagoffs upstairs before they stop fighting/stomping/throwing things.” Whee!

“Someone who spends 1 hour a week making $75,000 a year will likely be happier (all other things being equal) than someone who spends 80 hours a week to make $75,000 a year.”

ValueWalk, “Happiness, Time, Independence & Dividends“

Although I don’t know if I agree that money can only buy happiness on an income up to $75,000. Maybe if I had someone else in the house making the same or more, I’d be a lot happier. Of course, I’d just be thrilled to not have to float the rent check between the due date and payday …