I find if I have writer’s block, which is rarely, or am just too tired and preoccupied to think of something to write about, I just step out the door and sure enough, I find inspiration. It’s not that hard, it’s all around me. After all, I found it in a cubicle, which for me was very much like a prison cell. I am the kind of person who needs to be out and about. That’s just the way it is.
Our closing is set for September 9th. Barring any unforeseen problems, we will be out of this apartment in five weeks, one of which we are spending in Colorado visiting our daughters. This comes not a moment too soon. The neighbors’ upstairs are bringing us to the edge of insanity.
They are smokers. They are neurotic door closers. They go out on the deck to smoke at all hours, five in the morning, in the dead of night, two or three a.m., in the middle of a Sunday afternoon. The problem is, they don’t just open the deck door, sit on the deck for awhile, smoke a butt, then go inside. They open the door, close the door, open the door, close the door. One day, while trying to watch golf, my husband counted thirty openings and closings in five minutes. The sliding glass door slides open along the track, rumbling through our apartment. Then it slides shut with a thud. Then it happens again and again and again.
Our bedroom opens to the deck. For twenty-two years, I lived across the river from a train track. Every night at three a.m., I would hear the train approaching. Off in the distance, the lonesome whistle blew. The sound grew louder, then receded. I love the sound of a train, it is the sound of romance and adventure. Memories of backpacking through Europe or traveling into New York City would come to mind. I’d drift back to sleep. The annoying sliding door is not that kind of sound.
Of course, this is somehow my fault. My husband stayed behind in New Hampshire this winter to finish up some work. I moved down here first and as he said Saturday morning, “I specifically requested you find an apartment on the top floor.” The sliding glass door opened and shut, opened and shut. It punctuated his sentence. I was on the list for a top floor apartment. It didn’t quite work the way I thought it would. There were complications at the place I was temporarily staying.
Friday night the upstairs tenants partied until one a.m. In and out, open and shut, in and out, open and shut, chatter, laughter, in and out, open and shut, in and out, open and shut. Is that annoying you? Because it certainly is annoying me. Things quieted down at one, I drifted off to sleep. Two a.m. I was awakened by the sound of the sliding door. This continued off and on, in and out, open and shut, until 3:30. They have to be crack addicts, cokeheads, neurotic, insane. I began to write a song in my mind that I imagine would get a lot of airplay on The Gator.
A few months ago there was a domestic situation. We heard the fighting, screaming, crashing. We were about to call 911 when I saw a police car out front. He stayed for quite sometime, a good thirty minutes.
We have thirty seven more days here minus ten in Colorado. We have complained to the management, they served the tenants a notice. We’ll see how far that goes. I bought an extra large supply of coffee at Costco.
Rich decided to work on Saturday. I went to Delray, walked Atlantic Avenue between the raindrops, and ended the walk at Starbucks. You might have noticed, I’ve been doing a lot of walking to coffee shops. A mile long walk to a coffee shop, refuel, then walk a mile back. To and from, to and from, drink coffee, to and from.
Handicap table at Starbucks First time I’ve ever seen that.
Day 83 ~ Come Walk with Me
Much too tired to think. It’s still the weekend. Saturday night was as bad as Friday. Rich is taking advantage of the mountain of work he has. It’s drizzly and rainy again, late afternoon thundershowers, heavy downpours. Rich’s reason for working again on a Sunday was, “I’d liked to watch golf. Tiger is leading, but the sliding door is driving me mad. I might kill someone.”
I walked in Delray again. It wass noontime. Let’s head down the avenue.
The town was just waking up. People were drinking coffee and eating breakfast. Earlier risers had lunch on the sidewalk under an awning, with a bloody or a glass of lemon water. Still others bellied up to the bars, drinking beer. If it’s a dark beer, it’s a meal, right? A bloody is definitely a meal. It comes with celery, olives, really fancy ones have a cocktail shrimp or even a slice of bacon.
On Sundays, everyone moves to their own circadian rhythm. It’s sticky, muggy, the air is thick and humid. Air conditioning blasts onto the sidewalk from the open cafe doors. Few people are out today, I can actually walk at an aerobic pace.
We’re stopping at Starbucks. I’m ordering an iced latte. Care to join me?