The television off, my gorgeous bride to be snuggling up next to me, it was just me and the ceiling in a staring contest until one of us, most likely me, fell asleep. But the ceiling decided, quite abruptly, that it had something to say. No real words, actually, but more of a steady, rhythmic, squeaking - as if a certain bed occupied by certain neighbors who refer to my ceiling as their floor was being pushed to extreme limits. That didn't bother me at all. As a matter of fact, I was trying not to giggle so as to wake up Lisa. Hell, I was trying to restrain myself from actually waking up Lisa so she could hear the show upstairs. The, love turned to lust and the innocent and slow squeaking turned into the faster and louder banging found in matches of Headboard vs. Wall. On top of all that, she's a screamer. My giggling smile turned into a furrowed brow and gasping mouth. I was indeed getting a wicked show. But, after the good half hour long show ran through to completion, no intermission, it was bedtime and I was now, even more so than before, quite tired. At about four in the morning I woke suddenly, swearing to myself that I could still hear the loving neighbors upstairs loving each other. I shook my head and tried to shrug it off, "can't still be doing it. Can't be." Sure enough, however, they were. At about four in the morning, about four hours later, they were at it again, and despite the early hour they were at each other with as much energy and interest as before - possibly more so. This time the giggling was never present and the humorous novelty of the first 'listening' was far gone and novelty had turned fully into nuisance. What could I have done? I tried to bury my head in pillows, but I could still hear. I tried to shut my eyes, but no matter how hard you shut your eyes, I groggily discovered, it does nothing for my ears. I desperately wanted to turn on the television, but I didn't want to wake up Lisa. I had no idea what to do. And from when they woke me up at four or so in the morning, I was up. I stayed up past the completion of the whole thing. Past five o'clock. Past six o'clock. I got out of bed and went into the living room to try and watch television and maybe write something to help me fall asleep. But it didn't work. That was about a week ago. Every night I go to sleep, I can't. Not because of the neighbors for that night of which I speak is the only night ever heard anything. I don't know why. I just can't get any rest anymore. And for a week now, each and every day I find myself more and more tired, wanting to go to sleep earlier and earlier every day. It's creepy, and I blame it all on the Marathon Shtoopers upstairs. Lisa, the angel that she is, suggested that we make even more noise, but that would only irritate the people below us. Suggestions from other friends are that next time the Marathon Shtoopers have at each other I go upstairs and wait outside their door. When they're finished, I knock and high-five anyone that answers. Another helpful tip from a pal is that next time they do it as loudly as they have, I write a note with tips (move to the left, try it a little slower, maybe another room in the house) and slip it under their door. The list is endless, but all require my staying awake to hear if it does indeed happen again. I'm so tired. |
