Cotton Swab Earplugs

On a small island in the Atlantic palms swayed, waves lapped, the sun shone down.

Following a road past a beach, shining lights, sugar cane, up a bumpy road skipping a school or two.

Along a dirt path…in a place well past its glory days….an apartment boomed thunder.

No lie.

That can only be thunder. No human being could possibly make that kind of noise. It must be an act of nature herself. She has left the flower blooming and hurricane brewing and descended upon me…as I’ve no idea what I’ve done to deserve this…let’s work it out.

I seem to have a solid streak of bad upstairs neighbors. All of which seem bent upon striking my sanity down. I do not know who these people are. I do not know what horrible twist of karmic obligation has landed them above me. But there they are.

It all began with the piano player. This man refused to learn new music and was intent on perfecting pounding out the same 2 songs dawn to dusk....but more specifically when I seemed to be in a particularly good spot of focus. I would recognize the sound of his piano anywhere and to this day should I hear it I will cringe and cower.

Then came a couple with a Chihuahua; the husband was a fan of jumping rope in steel-toed army boots from the sound of it. And every day at 10pm the Chihuahua would do laps in what could only be micro-rollerblades.

And now I’ve been graced with a giant who stomps around crushing small animals under his feet, dragging his club behind him. I’ve actually taken to moving my laptop and myself out of the room he’s rumbling over in the fear that he will one day soon fall through the ceiling and there will be a big hole, a big mess and giant in my living room.

I would go upstairs and try to resolve the issue…but what am I suppose to say…please stop making odd noises and walk quiet. Someone somewhere seems to think I need to learn some patience. I’ll take the hint. But I won’t give up hoping that the last furniture rearrangement marathon upstairs was the last.