At around 2 a.m. this morning, when I was fast asleep, my neighbor arrived home and decided to crack open his guitar and play and sing. In his bedroom. Right below mine.
I’ve already mentioned the thin floors and the issues involved therein here on this blog; I understand that just by living, there will be noise. However, at that time of the day/night/morning/people-are-pretty-much-dead-in-sleep, there is no reason to be doing any such thing. It’s like calling after 10 p.m.: generally you don’t. I turn my TV down at 10, and in general, begin functioning in quiet mode out of respect for the people living in the building.
I woke up.
I tried to block it out.
No luck.
Tossed and turned.
He continued to wail like a run-over cat.
I finally jumped out of bed very loudly, stomped into the other room, and grabbed one of my Dale Warland CDs. I threw it in the CD player and tried to drown out the horrible noise of his singing. I thought he might even hear it and realize he probably shouldn’t be waking people up with his guitar.
He did. He eventually quit playing. I left the CD going.
Nevertheless, I didn’t get much sleep. This constant late arrival of this guy from whatever it is he does in the evening and then his subsequent “hey I’m awake and that’s all that matters so let me make all the noise I can” has about met the end.
I hope he enjoys Carl Orff’s “Carmina Burana“, which is what I’m playing loudly right now. A blast of O, Fortuna at 7 a.m. as I get ready for work seems fitting for his day, which he likely wasn’t preparing to start until much, much later.
As it is, I’m exhausted and I would like to pound this skinny-jean wearing idiot into the ground from whence he came. Orff is waking me up a bit, though, and getting the blood pumping, so maybe I’ll just keep doing this every morning. There’s nothing like doing a little air-maestro at the timpani section for morning calisthenics.
It seems fitting somehow.
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