Farewell (or fare poorly. Whatever.)

My neighbors moved away today.
Things I will not miss about them:

1. The completely relentless crashing, crashing, crashing of things on their floor/my ceiling.

2. The fact that much of the crashing happened directly over the head of my bed, a thing I explained to them time and again, though they made no effort to change anything about their lives to ameliorate the situation.

3. The fact that they let their children bounce balls indoors, despite living in an upstairs apartment.

4. Ditto bike riding.

5. Their general stance that, though noise a bummer, it was entirely beyond them to address it in any way. (Suggestions: put a rug on the floor. Hell, put a towel on the floor. Make balls and bikes outside toys. Let your children play in any of your numerous rooms that are not over my bed. But no.)

6. Sometimes opting to sleep on the sofa so that I might not be awakened by the crashing over my bed. I was still awakened in the living room, but not quite so startlingly.

7. The fact that they additionally rented the building's third apartment so no one would move in and make noise under their bedrooms--a desperate move that, ironically, incited no empathy for my situation whatsoever. Indeed, they spent no time at all in the auxiliary apartment, despite the fact that had the children played there instead of upstairs, I would not have heard them.

8. Their practice of leaving numerous bags of soiled diapers on the (indoor) landing outside their kitchen door--directly over my pantry, which subsequently frequently smelled of shit.

9. Their refusal to break down boxes before putting them in the shared recycling bin, thus filling it to capacity.

10. The man's practice of sweeping leaves and detritus from the front entry and the sidewalk in front of his garage, but never from in front of my (directly adjacent) garage.



Things I will miss about the neighbors:

1. They were very quiet after 8pm.

2. Since they rented the only two other units in the building, when they were out, the whole place was mine all mine.

3. There is no 3.



*****
Sunday.
Just for the record, puzzled that my apartment reeked today despite a fairly robust cleaning and airing yesterday afternoon, I opened the kitchen door. And gagged. As I have so many times before. I then proceeded to take four bags of soiled diapers from the upstairs landing to the outdoor trashcans.

The song may be over, but the melody lingers on.