creative projects · Fiction · noise in the room upstairs

Entry #2: My Bucket List

It occurred to me yesterday that I didn’t reveal the full extent of my peculiar predicament. I thought to myself last night while in the throes of a pre-sleep fever dream, “You’ve don done it again, Danny Boy. You done botched up and goofed up something awful.”

Before I could question why my inner voice suddenly became a beleaguered Irishman or why I decided to call myself Danny, I made a promise to correct particular failings before falling asleep.

This is one of the things that I decided to improve. It’s been over a week since I’ve updated this journal and that’s just awful. Especially since the main purpose of this is to be a practice in routine. Something to provide a comfort and check to certain mental excesses.

Today, I’ve decided to make a bucket list.  Something simple, straightforward and relatively easy to finish. Besides that, it’s been something I’ve always wanted to make. What could be more fun than making a step by step plan for fulfillment until that permanent end?

If I end up crossing that invisible boundary towards the insane, I want to get a few things done.

1) Kill My Upstairs Neighbor.

Wow! That sounded rather homicidal, doesn’t it! Allow me to explain.

There’s an elderly woman who lives right above me. She’s around 65. Perhaps older.  Now, this particular woman when I moved into this apartment told me that she enjoyed cakes, sewing, and spending time with her grandkids. She sounds like this kindly old woman who couldn’t hurt a fly, doesn’t she? The ideal grandmother, perhaps?

You’d be wrong.

Ms. Margrave Clark is a curious breed of old women. She dresses in the most garish colors ranging from hot pinks, shiny lavenders, and spring greens. Every time I happen to catch her walking down the apartment steps, my eyes feel like they’re being assaulted by her bright colors.

Today she had the audacity to go around in a pink feathered boa! Now I don’t begrudge a woman of any age to wear whatever clothes she chooses but when your fickle feathers manage to get on any item of clothing with the misfortune of needing a wash that week, then I have a problem. I’m still finding stubborn feathers in the odd folds of my underwear.

But that’s not why I fantasize about killing her. No, it’s the unbearable noises she makes. Every day, at 6am exactly, she beats a blue whale silly with a nail hammer. At least, that’s what it sounds like. Every day, just screeches and banging. Imagine the sound of someone scratching their long nails on a chalkboard with one hand and beating a hammer against it with the other because they didn’t think the former sound was annoying enough. It’s enough to make anyone go mad. I clutch my pillow during these moments, pretending that its soft fluff is the woman’s veiny neck struggling to get air from the strength of my chokehold.

I’m your textbook case insomniac because of her. I don’t get any sleep until around one a.m. daily because of my other work responsibilities. And after lessons in the temporality of the human existence, I don’t usually end up sleeping officially until three a.m. I get a good three hours before her tire iron symphony.

2) Finish Super-Secret Project That Will Hopefully Not Be Super-Secret Anymore

I can’t really say any more about this currently. Not because of fear from any top secret government agency monitoring or some company gag. I’m afraid it won’t come to anything and you know my feelings towards writing down certain thoughts. It’s a sad thing to look upon failed ambition.

Just know that I plan for this thing to change lives. To become revolutionary. To help people.

I’ve perhaps written too much.

3) Solve The Mystery Of The Woman In The Television

There’s a woman living in my television set. Does that sound odd? Now that I write it down it seems fantastical, doesn’t it? And that’s not even the strangest part of it.

Despite its antiqueness, the television can get color. And cable!

I got the TV for a bargain at a local antique shop. It’s your standard Cathode Ray Tube television with dials and antenna and a shiny wood finish. The screen is so small and the picture so grainy that I had to bring the couch closer to actually get a sense of what’s going on. At only twenty bucks wholesale it quickly became one of my prized possessions.

But back to the woman on the television,


Last Edit: 25 March 2016

Yes, the break at the end was intentional.

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