What horrible crime did I commit in this life span, or another to deserve this? The mayhem continues upstairs. From the early morning sounds, I’d say there’s been some conjugal break-up involving young children. One part of the affected parties, now taking shelter with maman. (One of the afflicted having a male voice, I must have gotten the character list wrong last night, when the mayhem began.)
When the dog and I sauntered between the raindrops this morning, I noticed the afflicted male (or so I assume) had parked his commercial van up close against the entrance to upstairs – successfully blocking off the narrow street while he was at it. This suggests to me the conjugal stand-off – or whatever other family drama is playing out – may last for a while. As a result, I feel nostalgic for the bygone days when the noise from upstairs consisted of the lone inhabitant singing her heart out far from any musical scale I know.
There’s not much sense to be found in the human experience, other than the sense you make of it. Therefore, I choose to pass on…hm…as many negatives about myself as I can, for starters. Negatives such as how could I, why did I, as well as the long list of convenient fixes offered up by experts. (While the wailing upstairs grew more intense last night, I chanced on a psychoanalyst’s way-out connections between depression and the fanatical rampages of True Believers of one stripe or another. But then, I’d just read that the genetic materials humans inherited from Neanderthal are the source of depression, thick blood and allergies. Woe is us for ever meeting up with Neanderthal, yes? We’d be a much finer species without those fateful encounters, way back when the world was young and we didn’t know the first thing about genotypes.)