Page 4 of Definitely Not a Thing
Yes, I was.
As much as I hated that it was the case, the unexpected end of a nearly three year relationship wasnotsomething I could simply brush off and easily move on from – at least, that’s what the logical parts of my brain were processing.
Hadbeenprocessing.
I’d been moving on autopilot really, as soon as I realized my new reality. I’d found a new place immediately – and it felt quite serendipitous for mydreamplace to be available right when I needed it. I packed my shit, ignored themaybe we should talk about this morepleas, and got my ass on.
And now I was back.
Unfortunately.
I blew out a sigh and closed my laptop, knowing that work was out of the question now that I’d let myself travel down this emotional path. I put my earbuds in instead, turned the lights and temperature down, got under my blanket and closed my eyes while Sza crooned in my ears.
Perfect self-loathing vibes.
Ihatedbeing fatalistic, really.
I thrived on finding the positive, getting things done despite the barriers, blah, blah, blah.
But man… this was really,reallyfucked up.
I would get through –what the fuck is that?
I sat up on my mattress, squinting as if it would help me hear better. From somewhere – likely next door – I could literallyfeelthe bass reverberating. I glanced at my phone to check the time – approaching midnight, which waswellpast the nine-o-clock noise rule.
I groaned as I weighed my available options. I didn’t want to move in and immediately start the Karen antics, but I could barely hear myownmusic directly in my ears over theirs.
That was just egregious.
With that in mind, I neatly removed a page from the back of my journal, taking a moment to scribble a quick note.
Hi neighbor! It’s quite late, and the music is quite loud – any chance we can make some adjustment? Thank you!
Was it the most polite?
No.
But it wasn’t as rude as it could be, consideringtheywere botheringme.
Instead of knocking, I slid the note under the door – surely somebody from the party would find it and deliver to whoever the actual tenant was.
I was barely back inside my apartment when the music stopped completely, bringing a smile to my face.
“Thanks, neighbor,” making a mental note to formally introduce myself the next day, to make sure there weren’t any weird vibes.
My earbuds went back in, sad music on, covers tuck—WHAT THE FUCK IS THAT.
I sat straight up, again, as Big Sean repeated “Ass, Ass, Ass,” over and over – the chorus of his song colloquially known by the same damn name.
Somehow, it waslouderthan before.
Oh.
Oh.
I hopped right back out of the bed, grabbing my keys and cell to stow in my pockets before I stomped out of my apartment back into the hall.
This time, Ididknock, like I was the police at that.
