Working my way backwards here, seeing as I have not posted in a while.
I sat on the back stoop earlier this evening, July 3, 2011, looking at the cloud covered sky. Not a good night for fireworks, methinks. Or thought. Thinking back to all the nights and days I opened my back door, either sat on the step or stood admiring the sky in all its moods. Also, the birds, motion of the trees, before neighbor denuded one and cut down the other. Suddenly filled with rage.
Picture myself getting up, grabbing the broom, bristle side up, simply pounding on the floor. Or neighbor John's door. Rage. Killing rage. People with PTSD have been known to kill or shoot while having flashbacks. I was not having one. It was about 8PM. Just woke from a rather long nap. My second of the day. What a lovely, hot, sunny day, wasted indoors, thank you very much John.
Friday evening was the pits. John and Chris. Someone (or two) else. Not just the usual loud talking, but shouting. Bad enough I have to listen to that until midnight, I am also listening to John's (insert cuss words) radio. May have been the night prior, I was falling to sleep, earplugs, two pillows over my head, pulled back to consciousness by Chris' voice, "Johnny...", followed by his and John's conversation. Tossed and turned, could not seem to block out the sound of John's radio.
I swore I would call manager in the morning. Friday evening or is that Saturday morning, I swore I meant it this time, I was gonna call the manager. I was too tired to write a note to go with the rent check. I have been meaning to write it for several months now.
"Why did you let this go on for so long?", David, the manager asked me, when I complained about Chris and Bill. Why did I not call to report Chris when he had Bill here the weekend David was away. Likely due to David's attitude....