The sense of nothing

Slam. Slam. Stomp. Stomp. Loud and I mean the loudest laugh you have ever heard combined with the scream of someone who is about to be murdered. Stomp. My neighbor is home. I can tell because I’ve learned how his steps sound like tunnels above my head. I hear him in silence. Stomp. He is haunting me even as blood still runs through his veins. Slam. I can’t remember the last time we haven’t fallen asleep together. Him in the bed above. The ceiling blocking us from human contact. I can’t fall asleep until I hear the thuds of him padding to his bed. Silence. Boom. How did I forget. Drop. Drop. He has to throw everything off of his bed before he gets into it. Boom. I shuffle around in my covers looking for the coldest spot and drift off into our united sleep.

Lately, I’ve been thinking my glass is empty but the whole time I’ve been holding the water pitcher. The ice cubes are melting while I’m still trying to figure out if I want still or sparkling water. I have the privilege to complain, I have the luxury of choice. I live in an apartment. The water always runs when I turn the faucet on. I can turn the thermostat from hot to cold at a whim. My washer machine is inside of my home. And some days, I complain about it all. My upstairs neighbor, public enemy number one. My water runs like a twisted hose in the summer grass. I can’t sleep with the heat on at night because it gets too hot. The worlds tiniest violin would be wasted on my woes.

I’ve allowed myself to become consumed by my neighbor. I, a woman, slashing through the jungle on a mission. He, my sinking sand and pit of snakes and mud slide. I opened my curtains. Stirred my Matcha and rolled out my yoga. The first “pose” I did this morning, was lay down. The whole situation swirling in my head as the incense on my counter burned so hard I chocked. I did not have to allow this to continue. I did not have to continue to wallow in the despair that came with every one of his screeching laughs that crawled down my walls. Sun salutation. My calves are so tight. I could change my perspective and start living again in my space and stop living a space around the fog that was my neighbor. Frog pose. In fact, I have to. I have to regain control. Downward dog. I have become consumed by it all. My neighbor is not concerned with me so I shouldn’t be concerned with him.

Most times we become fixated on problems. We toss and turn with them until we can’t see anything but our own perspective. Like the situation with my neighbor, albeit annoying, someone would love to be able to fall asleep in an apartment that gets too hot if the heat is left on at night. Ping. I haven’t heard from her in a while. Phone down. I think we all need to go outside more. Not think, I know. Where are my car keys? I am focusing on appreciating life more but complaining cancels out gratitude. I don’t think duality is relevant when gratitude is involved. Life for me this week has been all about stepping outside of my own focus and seeing the glass for what it is. Just a glass. I can choose to be suffocated by my own perspective or I can take life for what it is, an unfixed variable, and go forward and enjoy.

Stomp. Stomp. The laugh. It is Sunday. Football is on. Why not turn my music up as well.

This blog post was written to the album “Immunity” by Clairo.