Well it was at least, up until someone new moved in. Now, this person is young, barely 21, straight out of f*****g Italy accent and all, came here hunting for the American Dream I suppose. Seems like a good enough guy, finally met him a month after he moved in, got good vibes from him. Better than the last hippie who lived here that’s for sure.
Anyway, tonight he had some company over, and as the clock hits 11:00…12:00…1:00 in the morning, they get louder and presumably drunker, and I get more irritated because I have to wake up in five hours and go to work. They were seated in the kitchen, which on the other side of the kitchen wall lies my room, and more importantly, my sleeping self. So, instead of doing what a rational person would do and send him a text asking him to keep it down, I pull my clodhoppers out from under my blankets, drag my knuckles over to the wall, and *BAM BAM BAM* hit the thing three times with a good hearty amount of force behind it, a universal way of telling someone to shut the f**k up.
Silence. Complete, silence. A mouse could breath through its nose and I’d hear it through this uncomfortable f*****g silence that I created.
Shortly after I could hear him saying goodbye to his friends before walking back inside and going into his room, and now I lay here, wide awake, questioning why I did what I did. Part of me is trying to tell myself that I’m overthinking this far too much, and part of me is trying to justify that what I did was in the right. But the part of me that I should listen to the most is the one that sits quietly in the back, and that part of me is saying that something isn’t right with me. That somethings never been right.
All I wanted to do was sleep, and now all I can do is think.