This post is not about cooking. I am not sure I even have enough brain in my head that is functioning enough for cooking right now. For two nights, I’ve barely slept, and for the most part it’s out of my hands. This makes me insane.

We moved into our place with high hopes last summer. Our apartment is lovely to look at, and in what seemed to have been divine providence, a realtor showing us another apartment had gestured at this one as we drove, saying it was a place she’d lived in when she’d just gotten married. Turned out it was the next apartment on our list to view. Instead of this being serendipitous, however, it was evidently some kind of omen. I’m not sure what kind, but some kind. When we first moved in, the shower was broken, and we found this out after heaving furniture around for hours when it was 85 degrees. Then the refrigerator broke a couple of months ago. Then a drain clogged so badly with, evidently, 80 years of hair, that a plumber had to come and our shower was all wonky. But the kicker–what makes this place borderline uninhabitable–are the neighbors.

We’ve called the cops once already for the loudmouth kid and his pals next door, having a 4 am party. I almost called another time, but they went in just beforehand.

Cars have pulled up to their place–their driveway is next to our bedroom window–with radios blaring at 2, 3 am.

There’s a known gang member who lives a stone’s throw from here. He’s always in trouble.

We live at a corner with a light, and we live on a sort of cruising avenue. So jerks pull up with their souped-up accords, music cranked so loud that our windows shake. OUR windows. Not just theirs. It’s awful in the summer.

And upstairs lives the Horse, who we can hear in her 3rd floor apartment all the way down in our first floor place. In the middle is Mr. Silent. He travels for weeks at a time–thank god–leaving his place blissfully quiet. When he’s not traveling, however, he keeps a really weird schedule that this week has included going to bed at 2 am. This would be of no concern of mine except that his bed is right above my bed, he has a strong step, the floor’s extraordinarily squeaky, and he seems to enjoy pacing. Saturday night I went to bed at 1:30 after our day of driving all over the state, and he went to bed at 2–the cat, slightly after cue, got us up at 8. I was tired. Last night I went to bed early–10–and was rudely awakened at 2 as he marched all over his apartment, stomp stomp, squeal squeal. It was so disruptive that Mr. Pea was awake until somewhere between 3:30 and 4 and I was awake until nearly 5. I have a hard time turning off my internal dialogue once it’s awake. On cue, Tuesday meowed for attention at 7:30. So now I’m up, having gotten 7 hours of sleep, but in two pieces with a giant middle section missing. I am exhausted. This is the third time in two weeks. It can’t go on.

And that’s why we started talking about moving at 3:30 this morning. This is not something either of us want to do, but this living situation is becoming untenable. I’m thinking of posting the following on craigslist:

In search of ideal apartment: one half of side-by-side duplex, hardwood floors, no wallpaper (as an aside–the cat will destroy both of those, so better to avoid them). Preferably, other half inhabited by quiet people who don’t like to crank music, watch loud movies, or have friends over at all hours, and who have quiet friends (ie, the elderly). Located on silent dead-end street. Yard preferred, with gardening rights. Rent reasonable, utilities included.

If you know where this place is, do give me a holler πŸ™‚


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