All The Lonely People

I’ve written before about my Asshole Neighbor. After last night, I’ve decided “Asshole” is too kind of a term. Yesterday, I received another phone call from the concierge stating that neighbors were complaining about pounding and banging noises coming from my unit. Completely mystified (I might have been vacuuming, but that’s it), I decided to go next door and try to work things out. AN opens the door—in his underwear, no less. I politely ask him if I’m making too much noise. He claims that he didn’t make the complaint, but that he was about to. Then he lays into me and accuses me and my nurses of making noise at all hours and being completely inconsiderate of everyone else on the floor. He says he’s tired of coming home from work and hearing the beeping of my ventilator. I try to explain that sometimes the ventilator alarms when a tube disconnects, but he clearly does not give a shit. Anyway, he finished by threatening to complain about me at the next association meeting and other people would as well.
Fucking asshole.
I’ve concluded that there are a lot of lonely people in this building who direct their misery towards other convenient targets. And I’m convenient. I’m amazed at how petty and self-absorbed we humans can be. But I refuse to feel like a trespasser in my own building. Life is too short. And of all the things I need to worry about in my daily life, Fucking Asshole Neighbor is at the bottom of my list.