My sweet sweet upstairs neighbours. How are you? Good, good, no I’m just grand – no really. I saw that you booked out the BBQ area last week? Awful weather for it really. I hope you didn’t enter the pool? Good gracious, it’s the dead of winter! You may wonder why it is I’m writing an open letter to you. I don’t suppose you follow my blog? No? You’re missing out.
Here’s the thing neighbour. We both know you have hard floors. It sounds like that fake wood. My hearing isn’t excellent – but this I can tell. Sometimes I can hear you open that industrial sliding door, I know, I have it too. Sometimes I can hear a small dog running around, it’s little nails clipping on the floorboards. Sometimes you guys are really quite clumsy.
Did you know 507, I was at a cocktail bar one New Years Eve (serving, not drinking) and it was situated directly in front of the speakers. Not a foot from my head – all night. My hearing has never fully recovered. I never hear silence anymore. Just a high pitched ringing. You may find it unusual then, that the sound of you dropping one marble at approximately 9:30pm every night, makes me contemplate your timely demise.
Dearest 507, on either side of me, reside The Mermaids, and The Metal Heads. Lovely people – no really. The Mermaids cook only seafood. Walking into the hallway is always a short breathless endeavour for me. They cook three seafood based meals a day. I bet they are full of vitamin E. The Metal heads – as you may have guessed by their names – like to listen to metal. Those crazy kids (both actually older than I) will listen to their metal in the sunlit hours and rarely after. They are quite respectful. Sometimes I hear them singing. Loudly and without tune. They sound happy.
They calmly put up with my sister when she goes through her Avril Lavigne phases a few times a year. They put up with my semi-broken toaster that sets off the fire alarm quite frequently. They put up with my Life-Is-A-Musical when I clean and when I announce: “BEEP BEEP BOOP,” every time I post something new on WordPress. They have stayed – quite literally – by my side through Monopoly fights and LOTR marathons/drinking games and my boyfriend’s GTA5 escapades.
I feel, dear 507, that perhaps you don’t like me. When I water my plants it irritates my downstairs neighbours. I wish sometimes that I could reverse gravity so that I would deserve your obvious devilry. Your spiteful clumsiness, the fact that you own marbles at all, your insane dedication and planning concerns me. I think it is only a matter of time before your true nature of violent psychopath is revealed – no really.
Let me tell you 507. I know that once a month or so you will have a sneaky cigarette. I know that sometimes you look after a dog or a nimble toddler with tap shoes on. I am not completely without blackmail. I bet the only thing you know about me is that I know your dropping marbles. I bet you know I know it’s on purpose.
My lovely neighbour. I wish to tell you that you have failed. I would rather like to explain this to your face. Or at all. But you don’t read my blog. Foolish really. Here are some things that you will never learn about me. I am incredibly stubborn. Also competitive. I am slightly passive aggressive and I love to listen to music. Like all the time. I like to listen to it at 9:30. I haven’t heard a marble drop in a month. I hope you are still doing it – No really.
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