Tuesday, November 21, 2006

Breaking The Rules of Blogging

I know there's one or two of you out there, I've seen your footprints. So...to you, gentle reader, I address myself. Perhaps you've even read my other entries, then this one may make sense.

One of the first rules of blogging (almost universally ignored) is to not blog while angry, I'm breaking that rule.

I live upstairs from a tweaker. To those of you not 'hip,' in the parlance of our time, a tweeker is somebody who does a lot of speed. He's got tweaker friends who live here in the complex with him. Including one woman in her forties who I consider abusive from what I hear over here across the complex, who baby sits other people's children, and another woman, who I believe is her minor daughter.

Law enforcement, wanna know their addresses? gimmie a jingle.

When I moved in here, there was a Lex Luthor looking guy next door. He took a disliking to me. I can't say why (though the walls are paper thin, everybody hears everything...exercise for the class: when everybody hears everything, how do adults act?). He spent months tormenting me through the most twisted, obsessive, cr-a-a-azy behaviors he could manage. Got him kicked out, after fearing for my life for months, and repeatedly threatening to sue.

Unfortunately, when he was moving out, I wrote a note to my neighbors to tell them my side of the story and I tell them I was sure things would calm down now that he'd gone (& yes, it was more paranoid than that, I can't fight paranoia for months without being infected somewhat--by far the worst taint I've acquired in this adventure). In the note, I described some of the things he'd been doing.

My brand new downstairs neighbor has gotten more & more into tweak since he moved in, and the more he's got into it, the more he can't stand me sitting up here being really quiet & ignoring him.

Several weeks ago he started tormenting me: following me from room to room, tapping on my floor, going into the kitchen at 11:00 at night and slamming pots and pans together, blasting music, tapping on the walls, banging on the walls, and my favorite, putting (I'm guessing) the flat of his foot against the wall & pushing rhythmically--shaking the whole building--making me feel like I was gonna fall outta bed. I got ear plugs--this frustrated the hell outta him for a couple of weeks--he was doing all this stuff to get my goat, but I wouldn't even wake up, very frustrating for him.

But then he figured out the whole rock the building back and forth thing--he did it all night last night. All night.

I called the cops three times. To quote Spalding Gray: "They come, she turns it down, the leave she turns it up." Three times.

I love it. It's 2006. Law Enforcement has a million tools at their command, and a law for every possible offense, and they can't stop a full grown man from doing to me what some asshole used to do to my desk when we were friggin' eight.

Just dandy. They sure know how to use tasers though. Boy howdy.


On a different note, why does the blogger spell check not know the word "blog" or "blogger" and why can't it learn when I press "Learn"? Just asking.


End result, I'm movin out, I gotta get some sleep & I can't with these crazy mo-fos around, & so... hiatus.


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