Money is good. There is a simple cure for my hungover Monday malaise: pseudoephedrine hydrochloride and acetaminophen. My head no longer feels like a throbbing snot factory and the "non-drowsy" properties of the pseudoephedrine are compensating nicely for the lack of sleep (which was compounded by some moron ringing my door buzzer at 3:30am). Last week I couldn't afford to buy luxury items like pain-killing decongestants. Not being broke is a very good thing.
Damn but I was angry last night. Some things just piss me off and I lose it. I had a good night's sleep and it is quiet now, but I keep getting these little aftershocks of anger. I can't comprehend the petulant selfishness of most people. Maybe it is because I grew up in apartments and spent my whole life mindful of the noise I make, or maybe it is just that manners and courtesy went out of fashion in the 20th century. Or maybe it is just that most people are trash and too stupid to see past their own noses.
I just went up and yelled at my neighbour. He played "Do You Believe in Love" again. I rapped on the ceiling and I clearly hear him say "fuck him" so I went and kicked his door and yelled at him. He gave me attitude, but it is quiet now. My legs and arms are shaking, damn adrenaline. I could have killed him. I just barely kept myself from throttling him. I'm not putting up with this any more.
I just got back from seeing Moulin Rouge with Trish and I am inspired. I have, with no question, one foot firmly planted in the 19th century and a romantic notion of Bohemianism. I bought into it early, when I was 11 years old I saw the real Moulin Rouge. I had already bought the image whole-heartledly enough that I was horribly disappointed that it was no longer a nightclub. On that same trip I escaped from the tour (to my mother's horror) and took off on my own to see what the streets off the tourist path looked like.
OK. My "soft-rock", SUV driving, yuppie poster-boy, fuck-head upstairs neighbour cranked up Elton John again. He played "Do You Believe in Love" repeatedly the other day and just hit me with it again. Ugh. I've gone up and asked him shut off the shit before. Then I realized that the only time he turns the music up that loud is when he is fucking, and I don't need to see him in his skivvies with wood again, thanks.
I got up early to check my account and there it was, the fruits of my "labour", the payment for my soul, the reward for my pennance. The bill collectors have been placated and there is money left for eating, drinking and general merriment!
Of the bills paid the most notable is my lawyer, which means my divorce is really, really over now. There is absolutely nothing left to worry about now. That is such a huge relief!
I have no money left. My car insurance expires at midnight and I'm getting phone calls from bill collectors. If I was still doing nothing but private consulting I'd be so fucked. But I'm not fucked because Friday is payday!!! Yay! Who wants to get hammered at Organica?
. He played "Do You Believe in Love" repeatedly the other day and just hit me with it again. Ugh. I've gone up and asked him shut off the shit before. Then I realized that the only time he turns the music up that loud is when he is fucking, and I don't need to see him in his skivvies with wood again, thanks.