The Bloody Doors Off

There’s one person left in the apartment directly above me. He moves out this weekend.

Dear god, if I could move time.

Since 4pm, he’s been singing. It’s loud enough to be annoying, but not enough to be bitchy about. Well, I suppose this is me bitching. Over 6 hours. WTF? Back in July, one of the former crashers (who was a decent guy, and now I think probably the only decent guy who resided there) hinted that he had an addiction. You don’t wanna believe shit like that. But given the craziness over the past several months, it’s easier to accept.

But you know, it seemed like he’d been turning things around. He got a job that he enjoyed, kept him quiet. But now, in these final days until he moves out, it’s like he’s backsliding. And I feel for him. To a point. That, and my low tolerance for putting up with it, makes me feel like an asshole. There are times I wonder if I’m the problem. Especially since October. Have I done enough?

There’s a theme that’s been running through my psych sessions: being proactive versus being reactive. I react to shit, rather than taking action to make things happen/fix the problem. When things got really bad upstairs, I’d email the landlords so they knew what was happening. Which should be the right thing. But that also meant I was avoiding direct contact and dealing with the situation myself. And when things were at their worst, when I finally took the reins and made a call, some people thought I was overreacting. So then I second-guess myself. I either go too far, or not far enough. I can’t seem to find the middle ground.

Anyone have a compass? ‘Cuz I’m not even sure which way is north right now.