it’s. just. too. much. period.

Give it two or three weeks. If the noise and obliviousness toward others continue, inform the property manager by letter.

That’s the guidance I’m getting today for handling the noisy neighbors upstairs.

Unless you’ve lived under people with wooden floors, it’s impossible to grasp or imagine the experience. The sound of each footstep, action and movement across a floor transmitted and amplified x 500. Conversations, shrieks, shoutings, megaphoned into your space, filling it with their vibrations and energies. THEIR lives, ways and means, habits and peculiarities become yours. Not by choice but force of inconsideration on their part.

Can neighbors not walk on the floors? Of course not. It’d be stupid to think so and that’s not what I’m saying. I’m saying that people can be made aware that others exist and dial it down several notches.

The nature of wood to transit vibrations and sounds cannot be overcome or eradicated. However, if you have wood floors, consideration of others can go a long way in establishing a peaceful and pleasant public domain for all.

Two to three weeks. If the noise and obliviousness continue, inform the landlord through a letter.

Last night when I came home from work around 12:15 a.m., their apartment was dark. More blessedly, it was quiet. Quiet. Still. Not a peep. Either they weren’t home or they were sleeping.

It was heaven! A temporary heaven but heaven nonetheless!

It was the first time in a week that their apartment has been silent. In a week! The aggravation, stress and noise by them have been a constant morning, afternoons and night. I’ve not known a moment of silence or solitude with the Clomp and Clack Couple Above!

I’m trying — REALLY trying — to tune it out. To shut down my already oversaturated overstressed and overtaxed system (made especially so by the crappy living situation just left). I go out when I can’t take in ANY more and then I’m slam-dunked right back into it — the noise and their obliviousness — when I get home.

Home. Hah! This ain’t home! This is THEIR home bleeding into and swallowing my space whole.

I listen to soothing music. Not loudly. I COULD. I’ve got a fantastic stereo. I could “fight sounds with sounds.” But what’s the point of that? Where’s the peace in that? The relaxation, the joy? Why be an asshole back to the assholes? There’s no good (or growth) in that.

So I enjoy the music at a low volume, doing what I know is right. Not pushing back with obnoxiousness toward the obnoxiousness that surrounds me.

One more element I mustn’t neglect to mention. I pray. I pray a lot. I pray for relief. I pray not for them to become aware of others — that’ll be handled in the letter to the property manager if it comes to that — but rather for peace FOR ME. Peace in myself and peace in my space so that I CAN claim it as mine instead of having it remain overtaken and overrun by the assholes upstairs (or anywhere else!).

In my last residence, I knew bullies. Not by names and faces (save for the landlord to a certain extent) but by their energies and the way things went down. They were IN my space. They entered my space and life around and under the doors like smoke.

The Clomp and Clack Couple Above, they’re not bullies, they’re assholes and that’s a different scene. They can’t be made to be nice, considerate or mindful of others. You can’t change a jerk, only a jerk can change him/herself. And being in intimate proximity with one, verrrrrry challenging, very difficult and fucking unpleasant!

Where was I going with this? I’m not venting, rather trying to communicate what it’s like living beneath oblivious people with wooden floors. Unless you’ve been through it, you can’t know, feel or imagine it.

It’s tantamount to being trampled on all the time.

Disregarded and MADE invisible by individuals WHO JUST AREN’T THINKING ABOUT ANYONE BUT THEMSELVES.

A buddy and I share the same property manager. He asked how my move went. I explained about the neighbors. He knew EXACTLY what I was experiencing. “I’ve lived below people with wooden floors several times,” he shared. “That’s why I DON’T do it anymore!”

Touche!

It’s just so nice when someone understands, really gets what this feels like. Intrusive. LOUD. Oblivious to others. And never-ending. Save in those blessed moments when they’re out (rarely) or asleep.

The stress is high, throat level, gagging me. I keep praying for this to abate. For relief. For rest for the weary. And I AM wearied by the constant stomping, noise, pressure and intrusions coming in from above me. I want it to stop. I want them to stop (not walking, obviously) … rather, just stop being oblivious, stop being assholes. And become AWARE that others exist. And then from that awareness be nice. Dial it down several notches. Step instead of march. Lift furniture as a team rather than drag it across the floor. Simple changes that’d help create peace for everyone around. It’s achievable. With or without intervention from the landlord.

That’s all in my weariness and exhaustion I’ve got for the moment.

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2 thoughts on “it’s. just. too. much. period.

  1. Yeah, most definitely a rock & hard place involved here. Actually, there are things I can do. In addition to contacting the police when they’re over-the-top noisy, I can inform the landlord, who *will* take care of it. She’s neither a slumlord nor hand’s-off type and no doubt has dealt with difficult renters. Recourse *is* available. Extremely busy lady that she is, I don’t want to involve her unless it becomes reallllllly necessary.

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