We’re not friends. At best we are mere acquaintances. At worst, simply people living next to each other, living our own lives oblivious to one another’s.
I want you to know I understand the walls are old and thin. And that I understand everyone has their own quirks, habits, routines. That I understand sometimes children tantrum and scream, or that sometimes you just need to turn up your favourite song just because. But I also want you to know you seriously suck. Like, really.
I’ve often mentioned during our polite exchanges that for more than eight months now my baby has had me up every two hours every night. I am exhausted. This is in no way an exaggeration. With two children of your own I assumed you’d understand my desperate need for sleep at any given opportunity. Apparently not.
Is it just ignorance that makes you want to loudly clean out and Hoover your fireplace at 10pm? Or pure whim that you’ve chosen to rearrange your house tonight at 9pm? Perhaps the hour is not that late to you, despite your children waking you, and us, up at the crack of dawn every day with their adorable screaming and tantruming. I can’t tell you how much I love that, knowing my baby is still sleeping and my partner has only had six hours sleep after a 13 hour day, to be woken up by you. And if it’s not the children, it’s you, whistling. Got to love a whistler.
It seems worse because I’ve spoken to you before about noise. Several times. And I don’t believe the sound only travels one way. It can’t, surely?
My Twitter followers probably think I’m insane, or an old lady, the number of times I’ve ranted about your inconsiderate behaviours. I just need to vent. We are far too polite and British to do it in person.
To sum up, please be quiet. Please just THINK, because next door I’m likely despairing, and wondering if we indeed disturb you just as much.
The sleep deprived neighbour