The luxury of today's topic, living on the top floor and the fumes that come with it.
There are plenty of distractions in today's life that will allow me to refrain from harming a human being. When it comes to my temple, I get the rights to mind fuck this individual. The neighbor below insists of an infestation. MothBalls to the rescue. Little did psycho senior know she would effect the aroma of my temple, my home, my one peaceful living space. There's no doubting the singing at 7 am on Sundays was annoying. Or better yet, the comments of her current living comparable to living on Colfax. To top it all off was the reaction when I complained to Property Management. The dissertation she presented was enlightening.
Needless to say, when I am 75 years old, I will plan on living in assisted living, rather than a middle apartment complaining to the bitch that lives above me about how bugs bite (do you want to see my scars), my homophobia, the need to point out drug fiends, how I'm 75 and need to get my life in order instead of worrying about where I put the mothballs. Oh, and I sleep on 3 folding chairs, since I had to through out my bed.
I will not be that 75 year old. I will rant now to the masses of how this psycho senior destroyed a night of sleep. I will admit I am calm, now with my cleaning supplies and air fresheners. How this encounter taught me to work hard and play harder so I don't end up alone in a one bedroom apartment singing about carpet beetles until 4 in the morning. More significant than all the rest, I better get my shit together now, rather than waiting 42 years and blame bug bites.
Too afraid to grow up, never old enough to give a fuck.
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