This new one, the replacement, is just as loud, just as inconsiderate, but brings a broader range of sounds to the mix. She doesn’t sit screeching in one place, she’s a one-woman stampede determined to set things in motion. Pictures, ceiling fan, things of that nature. It took no time for her to settle in and start operating at heretofore unknown decibel levels. Bam!, as Emeril says, she kicked it up a notch or nine.
So I’m off to new digs.
I found an apartment, had my application approved, now it’s down to the packing and schlepping and carting, the crappy part. Oh, I need to give my 30-day notice, but it’s written and awaiting submission. I’m proud to say I didn’t resort to insults or offensive language or name calling, but the urge was mighty strong. I lapsed into a little mild sarcasm, though; harmless fun, really. What’s the point of leaving if you don’t take a parting shot, right?
As for the new place, it’s on the eleventh floor. Tip top. Penthouse level. Nothing above me but roof and sky and birds. I’ll look down upon the world from my lofty perch and rejoice in the blissful peace and quiet. Or, if I’m wrong and it’s a noise factory, too, I can open a window and step out for a quick moment. Win — win.
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