Last night. Well, morning. Almost 4am. The music begins innocently enough from the apartment above us. It slowly wakes me from a deep, deep sleep. My brain tries to ignore it and stay in sleep-mode...clinging to my fast-fading dreams, which are crumbling quickly into strands of dust with every muffled bass beat...and blowing like ashes from my subconscious.
I am awake.
I try to stay calm because if I get pissed, I will wake up more. And I don't want to play watch-the-clock til sunrise. I rationalize that no person in their right mind would play music at 4am on a SUNDAY. 4am anytime, really. But tonight? The night before most normal adults lug their sorry asses out of bed, throw some coffee down their faces and try to muddle through the mosted despised day of the workweek? That is some kinda cruel.
It will stop soon. Stay calm and loiter around the border to Sleepland. Because soon you can go back in and tuck a pillow between your knees and assume the fetal position and let your yap fall open and drool all over your pillow.
An accoustic guitar starts up. Corn groans, frustrated.
We are awake.
This goes on for about 45 minutes: singing, guitar-playing, bass beats. Often separated by lingering pauses...giving us false hope that it is finally over. Finally, Corn - my hero - heaves his sleep-weary carcass out of bed, throws on something that looks like clothes (it is dark, so it may actually be a strategically-placed chihuahua) and marches upstairs.
I lay there, staring at the ceiling, waiting for the music to....
Sweet, sweet relief.
Tonight, I think I am going to take up Riverdancing. On my ceiling.