On my way to the car this morning, I found a ratty old notebook lying in the alley. There was no name on the cover, and nothing on the pages to indicate ownership. There were small indentations all over the cover, as if someone had chewed on it. The whole thing was bent –almost twisted. I could almost imagine a demented soul wringing their hands while holding it.
What was more interesting was what I found inside. Scrawled across the pages (in Hillary Pink Crayola) were copious notes, scribbled in venomous fury. Most of the entries were unintelligible, but I could make some of them out.
6:00 PM – They’re laughing. Laughing! What’s so funny? Who are they laughing at now? Is it me? I bet it’s me.
6:23 PM – I heard a pot clink against a skillet. Cooking again. That’s so like them. “We’re too good for drive-thru and pizza delivery.” HAH!
7:01 PM – Dick Cheney is kind of sexy.
7:45 PM – They’re using the steps again. What’s so important up there?
8:22 PM – I’m trying to match the sound of my TV to theirs, but I can’t adjust the coat hanger fast enough to keep the voices clear. Damned static.
9:00 PM – They moved their chairs again and made me cut outside the dotted line on my Uncle Buck Whole Grain Soybean BOGO coupon. Sliced right through the bar code. Now it’s ruined.
9:39 PM – If I squint hard enough, I can see light shining through the crack in the molding. Don’t they know people are trying to sleep?
10:17 PM – Is there such a thing as a lethal dose of Midol?
11:05 PM – Heard walking again. Damn them straight to hell.
11:48 PM – Heard urinating, but no final drops. Bastard must not shake it off. Yellow stains in underpants, I’ll bet.
12:27 AM – Heard some strange noises from their bedroom. Might be moaning, but I don’t understand. Who would be moaning this late at night? And what’s that squeaking noise? Wouldn’t catch me moaning like that, and nothing over here squeaks that way.
2:57 AM – God, how loud does that man snore? Jesus, it sounds like a freight train. And the smell – wait! Was that a fart? Oh my God, I can’t believe . . . Oh, that’s from this side. Disregard entry.
4:13 AM – The wind is blowing. Whistling. Who can I call to complain? How can I blame this on THEM? Maybe their window’s cracked open, which could explain the whistling.
4:19 AM – I like Jello.
5:59 AM – Why do they wake up so early? And a shower? In the morning? It’s almost like they have someplace to be, as if they had a responsibility to someone or something. Like their livelihood depended on them showing up at a certain place at a certain time. Nah. Who would do something like that?
7:50 AM – More walking, and the sounds of doors opening and closing. Damn them, how can I organize my notes with all this noise?
8:00 AM-5:10 PM – Oh, now I see how it works. They think they’ll drive me crazy with the quiet. No walking. No doors opening and closing. Sure, they say they have jobs, but that’s just a convenient excuse. But I won’t fall for it.
I’d transcribe the rest, but it’s only more of the same. I’m assuming this is someone’s sorry attempt at fiction, because the other possibility is too sad to contemplate. I mean, nobody in their right mind would spend this much time in such a pointless endeavor.
But Then Again, You’ll Have This . . .