Politics Versus Sleep...

It's 1:22am, and I have taken up refuge in my office. Chased out of my own apartment by my politics and my neighbors need to interefere with my dreams  (TWICE) by playing his/her music so loud that I actually dreamt that I was a contestant on American Idol.

When I was woken up at 11pm...I was righteously pissed. I ran to our shared wall...which was vibrating like a sex shop after a power surge...and neatly put the heel of my foot straight through the drywall in my rage. I then climbed into bed, drywall and all, and called my landlord asking him to call my neighbors. In the meantime, I myself went and played psycho-caveman and beat on their front door gate...but the occupants refused to answer. A moment later, however, the music stopped--I believe my landlord's mission a success.

To my chagrin, however, I found myself having a dream that the neighbors and my roommates (of which I have none) were in cahoots to become the pot selling moguls of Princeton Drive, and just as my roommates and the neighbors completed their transaction...the police shined their flashlights through our patio door (I don't have a patio)...directly on to my roommate who is standing with a kilo of Mary Jane in his hands. Well...that woke me up again...or so I thought. Actually...it was my neighbor's attempt to resurrect Selena by playing her music so loudly that she could follow it back to Earth from the other side.

So, I rose from my bed. My hair remarkably similar in appearance to Phyllis Diller's...and I raised my fists in the air (very black power/Scarlett O'Hara with that potato) and slammed them against the wall.  To no avail.

Now this entire time I'd been thinking to myself. Just call the police. You know. Those friendly ladies and chaps in blue that are there to protect and serve and sodomize with their nightsticks (I saw a porn with this in it once...it was kinda hot...but it's the bashing in of the skull that generally follows the real experience to which I object). But just as I went to pick up my Samsung Sprint flip-phone and unleash my righteous anger upon my almost positively immigrant neighbors...I found that my fingers were paralyzed. I couldn't hit those little numbers. I couldn't be responsible for summoning the police to this world from their Hell dimension. Once unleashed...who knows what diabolical acts they would have committed. While I was having devilish visions of drilling a small hole through the neighbor's wall...then waiting until someone looked in the hole...when I would shove the screw driver right into their brain...I couldn't contemplate calling the police...particularly in an environment where if an immigrant farts in public they might just find themselves on an airplane headed for the Central African Republic...or Iowa...and I'm not sure which one is a worse fate.

So here I am in my office. My pillows and blankets piled on the couch in the common room...waiting for me once my rage has been reduced to a level where I no longer have fantasies of homocide in the 1st degree. And, at least I'll have a fun story to share with my friends (the ones that got to sleep through the night) when the sun rises tomorrow...and I can plot my revenge.