I’ve mentioned her before. The helliant that lives in the apartment next door with her enslaved mother. She’s nine or ten years old; a screaming tantrum-thrower and door-slammer. Strange, her apparent dissatisfaction with life, given the gift of utter freedom bestowed by the mother who’s vocabulary knows not the words parenting, rules, or boundaries.
Add to that, the word bedtime.
Her latest trick is to stay up all, or most of, the night, playing her radio. Her bedroom borders on mine. She has a penchant for fiddle music. Loud screechy fiddle music. Or perhaps all fiddle music sounds screechy to me at two, three, four or five o’clock in the morning.
Until now, it was happening on average once a week and always on a Friday or Saturday night.
Last night was officially a work-night – though really, all nights are work-nights for me. I’m not a weekend boob-tuber. I have shit to do! And I’m normally unable to sleep in. My body just won’t cooperate. When sleepless, I just wake up at eight AM and remain tired and unproductive all day.
Before last night I’d complained once to the so-called mother and twice to the superintendent. Last night I lost my patience as the clock approached 3:00.
I banged on their back door. The birthing entity spoke to me through the window.
“What’s going on, Fwig?”
“What’s going on is I can’t sleep because fiddle music is keeping me awake!”
“Oh, I’m sorry! I’ll ask her to turn down her radio!”
“I can’t go on living like this!”
“I’m sorry. I’m really sorry!”
Apparently Her Highness, Queen of Darkness was in a generous mood and turned down the radio. I still heard it but it was less screechy.
I actually overslept just enough to make myself twenty minutes late for work. Between that and my being a groggy unproductive sack of shit, prone to making errors, I assume this will go some way toward involuntary career transition. So at least there’s a silver lining.
Waiting for me at the office this morning is my new telephone and some telephone accessories in a clear plastic bag that is boldly labeled in red, “PLASTIC BAGS CAN BE DANGEROUS. TO AVOID DANGER OF SUFFOCATION KEEP AWAY FROM CHILDREN.”
I’m going to empty the bag and slip it in their mailbox.
FWG
Image stolen from elsewhere; not actual Hellchild but artist’ impression.
Add to that, the word bedtime.
Her latest trick is to stay up all, or most of, the night, playing her radio. Her bedroom borders on mine. She has a penchant for fiddle music. Loud screechy fiddle music. Or perhaps all fiddle music sounds screechy to me at two, three, four or five o’clock in the morning.
Until now, it was happening on average once a week and always on a Friday or Saturday night.
Last night was officially a work-night – though really, all nights are work-nights for me. I’m not a weekend boob-tuber. I have shit to do! And I’m normally unable to sleep in. My body just won’t cooperate. When sleepless, I just wake up at eight AM and remain tired and unproductive all day.
Before last night I’d complained once to the so-called mother and twice to the superintendent. Last night I lost my patience as the clock approached 3:00.
I banged on their back door. The birthing entity spoke to me through the window.
“What’s going on, Fwig?”
“What’s going on is I can’t sleep because fiddle music is keeping me awake!”
“Oh, I’m sorry! I’ll ask her to turn down her radio!”
“I can’t go on living like this!”
“I’m sorry. I’m really sorry!”
Apparently Her Highness, Queen of Darkness was in a generous mood and turned down the radio. I still heard it but it was less screechy.
I actually overslept just enough to make myself twenty minutes late for work. Between that and my being a groggy unproductive sack of shit, prone to making errors, I assume this will go some way toward involuntary career transition. So at least there’s a silver lining.
Waiting for me at the office this morning is my new telephone and some telephone accessories in a clear plastic bag that is boldly labeled in red, “PLASTIC BAGS CAN BE DANGEROUS. TO AVOID DANGER OF SUFFOCATION KEEP AWAY FROM CHILDREN.”
I’m going to empty the bag and slip it in their mailbox.
FWG
Image stolen from elsewhere; not actual Hellchild but artist’ impression.
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4 comments:
LOL! Your last line is brilliant.
Tell the Birthing Entity that you'll call the cops the next time. People need their sleep, dammit!!!
I know because I haven't gotten any sleep the past two nights.
I'm so glad my neighbors are quiet - at least in the middle of the night. I think next time you should tell the little brat that for every minute past midnight that she listens to fiddle music, a kitten commits suicide.
Oh, God, the torture. Surfing about, found your blog. Very funny. Our neighbors differ significantly. LOL.
I agree with Kathleen. Tell the Birthing Unit (clearly not a parent), that the next time Helliant makes so much as a peep beyond your specified bedtime, you will call the police. Then do it - as many times as necessary until you get your way. It's all about the boundaries, hon.
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