Tantrum
I woke up the other day to the sweet sound of my neighbors who live below me in this 2-family house. I heard every footstep, every door being slammed and the front door that they slam shut is directly below my bed. It literally shakes my bed and most beds require coins for that to happen. You know what I’m saying.
It was the weekend, mid-afternoon, and I was still sick with this cold that’s in love with me. I rolled over thinking, “You gotta be fucking kidding me.” After a while I could feel the anger growing inside of me until I morphed into some composed wild animal that I didn’t recognize, and I did what any rational person would do. I started slamming my own doors, hard. It was garbage night and I threw full garbage bags down a flight of stairs letting them hit the outside door. I threw bundled cardboard letting it hit walls, the door, I didn’t care. And then I stomped down the stairs digging my heels into each step, pushed aside the garbage and flung open the door letting it hit the wall has hard as I could. I stepped outside and pulled the door shut with all my force and then? I kicked the garbage bags all the way down the driveway.
It was a sight.
I repeated the same on the way back in the house, slamming the door behind me, stomping up each and every step to the 2nd floor and flung the door open at the top of the stairs.
I was livid. I’d morphed into something strangely powerful. A something that doesn’t give a rats ass about what you think, and you know what? It felt good.
I’m the nice girl. The one in the bell tower they forget about. The one that treads lightly so not to disturb anyone, ever, because I don’t want to hear your noise and you shouldn’t have to hear mine. You do not slam doors when you share walls with a stranger, you close them. You do not walk heel-to-toe like normal people, you walk on your toes. It’s apartment etiquette. Everyone knows that, except my neighbors.
That day was freeing and I don’t regret it for a second. I was liberated in an unfamiliar controlled state of rage. And then, it got very quiet downstairs. And it stayed that way the rest of the day.
It was the weekend, mid-afternoon, and I was still sick with this cold that’s in love with me. I rolled over thinking, “You gotta be fucking kidding me.” After a while I could feel the anger growing inside of me until I morphed into some composed wild animal that I didn’t recognize, and I did what any rational person would do. I started slamming my own doors, hard. It was garbage night and I threw full garbage bags down a flight of stairs letting them hit the outside door. I threw bundled cardboard letting it hit walls, the door, I didn’t care. And then I stomped down the stairs digging my heels into each step, pushed aside the garbage and flung open the door letting it hit the wall has hard as I could. I stepped outside and pulled the door shut with all my force and then? I kicked the garbage bags all the way down the driveway.
It was a sight.
I repeated the same on the way back in the house, slamming the door behind me, stomping up each and every step to the 2nd floor and flung the door open at the top of the stairs.
I was livid. I’d morphed into something strangely powerful. A something that doesn’t give a rats ass about what you think, and you know what? It felt good.
I’m the nice girl. The one in the bell tower they forget about. The one that treads lightly so not to disturb anyone, ever, because I don’t want to hear your noise and you shouldn’t have to hear mine. You do not slam doors when you share walls with a stranger, you close them. You do not walk heel-to-toe like normal people, you walk on your toes. It’s apartment etiquette. Everyone knows that, except my neighbors.
That day was freeing and I don’t regret it for a second. I was liberated in an unfamiliar controlled state of rage. And then, it got very quiet downstairs. And it stayed that way the rest of the day.
Comments
The neighbors are actually very nice people and we get along great. I just think they forget I'm here because I try to be quiet. It's the neighborly thing to do when we live so close to each other, right?
I think that's what happens when you're a single and living with a family below you. There's one of me and three of them. I hear everything. An untentional voyeur of their lives.
Single-family living is sounding really good about now!
It's all about apartment ettiquette. I normally never respond that way. I suck it up, sometimes I stew, but this time, it felt so good so let er rip!
And I make no apologies for it. : )