The Writing

14 September, 2011

purgatory

In the past seven-plus years in this apartment, we have had massive and repetitive power outages, repeated water outages, internet failures, and one memorable President's Day weekend when the heating broke. We've gone through two refrigerator meltdowns. There are ghosts in the heating elements of the stove and the oven. We do not discuss the sturdiness of the stairs, and we pretend not to notice the massive termite damage. We have had immediate downstairs neighbors arrested on domestic violence. We've had one murder and one attempted murder in nearby buildings. We regularly hear our next door neighbors screaming and banging on the floor in what appears to be celebratory glee having to do with a computer game. The people who live below us have the angriest two-year-old in the history of humanity and a disturbing habit of pouring a bottle of lighter fluid on the grill whenever they want to char steaks. We live at the nexus of three daycares, two of which are for infants and toddlers only.

And now we have a neighbor, newly put here to test us, who sings showtunes as if she is onstage projecting to the nosebleed seats without a microphone.

At least the fridge is working.