Harpy! Harpy! burning bright

For some people, the world exists only to complain about it.  The woman downstairs is one of those people.  In Greek mythological circles she might be termed a harpy. She is constantly trying to snatch everything good and reasonable out of the air.

First she complained she could hear us talking too loudly with the windows open.  Valid.  We shut the windows. Then we were stomping around too hard on the floor when we walked.  She called my roommate Lady Minotaur, spitting the words at us as if they were some great insult.  Can you imagine what it would be like if we actually wore our shoes indoors?  Then her issue was with the fan my roommate had set up in her bedroom during one hot week of summer.  Apparently it was shaking her walls.  Our apartment is on the top floor and has so many windows it's like a greenhouse up in here.  My roommate tried all sorts of ways to rig the fan so that it was cushioned from the floor.  That wasn't enough.  The harpy demanded that the landlord install a ceiling fan.  He did but also suggested that maybe apartment living isn't for her. 

Now it's effing cold and I have a space heater turned on during the hour or so before I go to bed.  I close the door and my room becomes a hotbox and then I turn it off until the morning (fear of electrical fire).  This teeny tiny heater sits on a portable table on top of a rug.  Guess what.  It's causing a "humming sound" that's disturbing her highness.  The landlord sent me an email today with the subject line "Help."  He asked if I would mind putting a pillow underneath the heater or something.  Because I like him and don't want to cause him trouble, I said sure.  But what I really wanted to say was to tell the wicked witch that I'm only living here for 8 more days, so suck it up.  Better yet, tell her to come up and ask me herself.

There is a happy ending to this story.  I call it divine justice.  The landlord informed me that our apartment has been rented by some very nice people.  A family.  With two kids.  God, I hope those kids wrestle and scream and jump up and down on the floor.  What can you say?  They're just kids.

A Poison Tree

by William Blake

I was angry with my friend.
I told my wrath, my wrath did end.
I was angry with my foe.
I told it not, my wrath did grow;

And I water'd it in fears,
Night and morning with my tears;
And I sunned it with smiles,
And with soft deceitful wiles;

And it grew both day and night
Till it bore an apple bright,
And my foe beheld it shine,
And he knew that it was mine,

And into my garden stole
When the night had veil'd the pole.
In the morning glad I see
My foe outstretched beneath the tree.