Apartment living, Challenges-met & concured and the Beauty of Words

I woke up this Sunday morning to the sound of my obnoxious neighbor and his shrewish daughter screaming at each other. Every third word being ‘fuck’ or ‘shit’ or some other curse - most of the time I figure it’s just another way to express yourself but, with these two I tend to agree with my mother in that it makes them sound like uneducated, unimaginative, very sad examples of people in tough situations. It does not inspire one to sympathy to discover at top volume and with dramatic vulgarity at 8:30am Sunday morning that your neighbor is on dialysis and virtually destitute, living on his disagreeable daughter’s charity. Maybe there is something lacking in me? Regrettably, this demonstration of family…affection…is offered on a fairly regular basis. There ought to be some sort of manual by which all people in apartment buildings agree to live. Top of the list would need to be something along the lines of – ‘One must do their best not to intrude on their hapless neighbors’ Sunday morning sleep-in with obnoxiously loud, foul language’…something like that. Whenever some one in the building chooses to complain about this, they get screamed at to shut their fucking windows and mind their own damn business. Believe me darling, we all wish we could.

On the up side, I got to spend an enjoyable afternoon with my brother. I had planned on, and was looking forward to spending the entire day by myself in my apartment and communicating as little as possible with anyone. I’m glad he called. We had one of our rare good conversations which always leave me in a happy mood and remind me why it’s a good thing to spend time with one’s brother. He is among the few people in my life with both the perspective and the will to kick me in the ass when needed and not piss me off while he’s at it. Thank god for small mercies, eh?

As an update, my computer monitor is indeed caput (thank the not-so-little-anymore brat cat that is nevertheless completely irresistible to me despite whole the chewing issue-he has cost me a very expensive flat screen LCD monitor). Considerable expense aside, his destruction of my computer accessories led me to hook the machine up to my television and I am more than a little pleased with the result. I’m not sure why I’ve never thought about doing this before but it’s a perfect solution to a problem I wasn’t even aware that I had. It combines 2 separate media stations into one (saving sorely needed space) and, because of the tv stand arrangement in combination with a wireless keyboard and mouse, it puts all tasty cords out of reach to the teething kitten. It never ceases to amaze me how little imagination I have until pushed into it by forces outside my control but, I suppose that’s just part of the deal. If we didn’t surprise ourselves every once and awhile we might just as well shrivel up and die.

This feels like a good place to end the post but I’ve been sitting here messing with it for the past 10 minutes rather than saving and moving on so I suppose there must be something else I want to add? Maybe it’s just that I can’t get over how much I enjoy sitting in my most comfortable chair, typing on my wireless keyboard, staring at my television as my words appear and accrue…there’s nothing quite so satisfying to me as a page full of words I’ve just written and am generally pleased with. I used to sit at school and just blur my eyes and look at pages full of my own writing…the same feeling I get when I look at my shelves full of books would come over me and all would seem right with my world for those few moments…all the petty, stupid things outside my books and my words go away and something tight in me relaxes for a little. I can’t say why I find written words so much of a comfort, but I do and I always have. I remember, having learned my alphabet but not to read yet, a game I’m sure my mother hated where I would shout out whatever letters came to mind and ask what that spelled. Even then I think I was beginning to understand what fascination words-concrete, permanent words would hold if one could only read them, use them…Words can’t be taken back once they’ve been written down, you can’t argue what was or wasn’t said when they’re there to refer back to. They can’t be taken away or made less than they are…and they exist with or without anyone’s notice of them…