Falling asleep in my recliner is swiftly becoming a dangerous habit.
The other night, I woke up to that miserable thunderstorm…a cacophony of hail, the loudest rain I’ve ever heard…just all-around awful.
But the storm was nothing compared to a recent evening when I woke up at 4:30am to a domestic quarrel that would peel the paint off the walls, if these apartments had paint. Lots of yelling, shifting of the brou-ha-ha’s locale, and for some reason a several-minute string of usage of an awful word that in England means cigarette.
This is apartment life. People fight. People play loud music (and it’s never good music–not one time). Kids ring your doorbell because they’re bored. Dogs, over the course of time, create a discernible dent in your front door from their crazed glee of escaping their apartment to go outside for three minutes.
When it gets as bad as it got last night I try to remind myself that I’m no peach to share an apartment building with. I listen to Perry Como music (softly), I watch Sonny and Cher DVDs, and…well, that’s about it. But hey, we all have our imperfections.
……………………………………………….
I have an old, old friend from college days who chats with me on Facebook while intoxicated. Someday I am going to collect all these drunk chats into book form…I just need to find the perfect title. “Sh-t-Facedbook”? “You Don’t Have To Go Home But You Can’t Chat Here”? “Hello, I’m Hammered”? “FWI”? “Three Texts To The Wind?”
I’ll keep trying. Suggestions are welcomed.
………………………………………………..
Speaking of books, and Facebook, I am doing the “7 Books” challenge where you post a cover of a book you love each day for seven days. On my first day I posted “To Kill A Mockingbird.” Then I came to the horrible realization that “To Kill A Mockingbird” is the only work of adult fiction that I truly love. I read it in 8th grade, and it was legitimately the only “required reading” fiction book I enjoyed. Damn near the only one I finished.
I am a non-fiction reader. I mean, I could lie and post the covers to “Count Of Monte Cristo”, “Johnny Tremain”, “The Scarlet Letter” and so on. But I just don’t like reading fiction–which I feel is a failing of some kind. An even more disappointing reality is that just about every book I own is about a rock band, a TV show or movie, a cartoon character, or an important figure in radio broadcasting.
I’m not exactly a dullard, but the fact that I have never had the curiosity to read a Harry Potter book or a Stephen King novel or the like makes me feel like I am, at best, intellectually mediocre.
It doesn’t make me want to change anything…it just makes my “7 day book challenge” an expose’ of my literary sameness. (I would imagine anybody who knows me will not be surprised though.)