Okay, so last night, the Upstairs Stomper was stomping, scraping, and being a general noisy nuisance again from 7 p.m. until 10 p.m. But I was feeling so mellow yesterday evening (before taking my evening dose), that I decided to make jokes instead.
Now, I didn't shout at the top of my lungs. So the noises that the Upstairs Stomper made didn't appear retaliatory in nature after I spoke. But here's the general idea of what I said in this one-sided "conversation":
"Wow. You must hate your kitchen. What, is it like Bigfoot? Do you have to beat it up every time you use it?"
"And gee, you really need to stomp your floor into submission. It must suck to be you, having an uppity floor you have to beat down every day. You sound like you've been swallowed by a whale, and you're trying to kill it from the inside. I feel lucky by comparison. I don't have to do battle with my apartmet every day just to live in it."
"Maybe you need some of the anti-angry pills that I take. You've got issues."
"Yeah! Show that floor who's boss! And don't forget to stick a fork in it to make sure it's done!"
"Hey, do you have to kill dinner every night just in order to eat? Why not go to the grocery store like other people? That's what I do. Easy preparation without having to throttle those opossums."
"You know, if you want to squish grapes to make wine, you need a vat, not the bathtub."
You should get the idea by now.
Like I said earlier, I hadn't taken my evening dose when all of this transpired last night. But I'd had cups of peppermind, chamomile, and green teas.
It probably also helps that the hormones are back to normal. I know my body better than cops like Mr. Pills. And frankly, if he wants to be a better cop, he needs to talk to mental health professionals and learn something beyond "you need your dosages changed." Never let a beat cop do "brain work". It's like asking a mechanic to do brain surgery.
