The Move and the Meth Head

So, I have a new apartment. That makes three apartments in 10 months. A grand total of 9 different addresses in 3 years in a total of five different cities. In a sense, you could say I'm used to moving.

But the thing is I'm not. I should be a moving pro, but alas no. Everytime is a freakin' hassle. Because you know what, there's always a junk/mystery drawer to empty out no matter how temporary your address.

So here's the problem - I need to move again.

I've resisted mentioning my recent move here because I wanted to be completely moved before I talked about it. That way, we could all have one big ol' celebratory cheer and perhaps a celebratory glass of wine (or two or three) as well. But the Moving Gods? Well they had other plans.

First off, I might be mildly retarded because I thought I could get this entire move done in one day. ONE. Oh, and without a truck. Eleventy billion car trips later, and I still don't have furniture in my apartment.

Secondly my neighbor hates me. She hates me so much that it qualifies as The Hot Hate. And why does she hate the lovely Tweets? Because I am so loud. SO VERY, VERY LOUD. You see, she's on disability and she needs so a certain number hours of sleep. Not to mention she has a nurse who comes to her house on every other day. And if I could just keep it down, what with all the walking and such. Sure thing Lady, just as soon as you put your teeth in to talk to me.

(GRRRRRRR. I got home this evening and lo and behold what did I find? A noise complaint. The official complaint is that every evening I let my dogs run around constantly. A) first off it's a dog, I only have one. And B) These indoor dog racing tracks are just too profitable to give up. GIVE. ME. A. BREAK.)

I'll mention (although I don't think I need to) I'm no louder than your average gal. I like to think of myself as very light on my feet, somewhat graceful if you will. And Lily is a sprightly 23 pound pup. And aside from when I return from a long day at the office, she doesn't jump or run anymore than your average 6 month old puppy. And Lily and I are both usually in bed by 11:00.

Oh, and I almost forgot, you live in an APART. MENT! Which by definition means you'll need a little give and take with your neighbors. I extend you a little courtesy even though you feed the stray cats around the neighborhood. In fact I'll let it slide that you would rather just watch me struggle with my keys and the outside gate while my arms are being torn off by eighteen grocery sacks instead of reaching the four feet it would take you to open the gate for me. And I'll even cut you some slack for your friends that you let into the complex that could easily double for street transients. And you know why I do this? Because we're neighbors.


So, I've put in a request for a new unit far, far away from her. Because I'm pretty sure that I can't be still and silent for the next 12 months.

Unfortunately, it means I have to pack up my boxes. Again.