I confess to acting slightly younger than my age but she asked for it. “She” being the young woman who moved into the renovated apartment next door two days ago. I’m sure she’s a lovely person with many fine qualities though I haven’t met her. I checked out the updated studio, mirror image of mine, and it’s got bleached hardwood floors that made me sigh wistfully. What I’d forgotten about naked floors was that there’s no carpet (I’m still no fan, but plenty of apartment buildings require you to put down area rugs) to absorb noise.
Needless to say, I heard almost every conversation she had in person or on the phone that day. And she must have friends who live in the building because, “Oh my god!” (Followed by a chorus of high-pitched laughter; repeat.) This may be her first “real” apartment living on her own and I smiled remembering my excitement. It didn’t last all day but day turned into night and she turned on the music. And though I love that she loves music like I do, it was loud. Hey, loud music’s great–I cranked it up in several single family homes, then there’re concerts and festivals, my car, parties, dorm rooms, none of these being where she and I now live. Meditating, yoga, reading or sleeping to whatever the hell she was listening to last night proved difficult.
I gave her a break, you know, what with a new place, friends, a boyfriend if I heard right, and youthful exuberance. This night, as I attempted awkward new-to-me Yin Yoga poses (Yin Yoga being a blend of yoga and meditation so you hold each pose for a few minutes, not five deep in and out breaths) trying “to be” with cats pawing at or sitting on body parts and her loud, not New-Agey music, I deemed it time to teach a little lesson in apartment building etiquette.
I’m not sure when she left her apartment because I started singing along to my music turned to 11,This is Spinal Tap-style, but leave she did. For more carpeted pastures, to escape my excellent song choices and voice or a fab party, I’ll never know.
I still got it.