Daylight Savings Time has once again thrown me into a tizzy. I just can't win. This morning I woke up at 6:30 a.m. and was wide awake and I realize I don't know much, but I feel like that can't possibly be right. I'm actually trying to figure it out right now, bear with me. It was fall back so we gained an hour, which means I would've been waking up at 7:30 if the clock hadn't changed. Right? Whatever. The point is clocks shouldn't change--I'm just so skeptical of the whole thing. Sometimes I feel it's the biggest prank on the planet. I think maybe it was Ben Franklin who invented it. To him I say, thanks for nothing but a headache and a walk home in the dark, sir. I'm not sure about what the afterlife is going to be like, but whatever it is, I have a sneaking suspicion that dear old Ben is in it, laughing at all of us poor suckers still trying to reign in time. Anyway there is one other possible reason I would be awake that early. No, not because I've made a pact with myself to SEIZE THE DAY, don't be ridiculous. I don't get out of bed before 7 unless I'm getting paid a billion dollars an hour or I have a flight to catch. No, the real reason I was awake was because of the living birth control that rents the house upstairs. Those people have wild animals for children. They are the worst. Now, I know I'm sensitive to noise. I can't take high pitched noises--ask Samantha or Alexis or my boyfriend. I don't do pounding noises either. Ask my family. I have had started days at home by storming upstairs in a noise-induced rage, demanding that everyone stop walking. And talking. And breathing.
We should've known when the former tenants of our apartment told us that the people upstairs have kids...and they "can get loud". But how could we have expected that they were future Olympians training for the 100 meter dash? Or at least we hope that's what it is, because no child should be allowed to run the length of their house ten thousand times a day like these children do unless they were born to be athletic champions. Maybe they're actually harboring race horses, or a small herd of elephants. There has to be an explanation for the house shaking that occurs daily--and far too early in the morning. Sometimes when they actually jump up and down, and not just run, it stops my heart. It's just that kind of noise. It's wincing noise. Sometimes I walk around crankily, thinking, I'm too old for this, and then I think, GOOD LORD I'm already a crotchety neighbor! Sometimes I lay in my bed in the mornings when I can't sleep because they're re-enacting the blitzkrieg upstairs, and I think of all the things I could say to them if I wasn't so afraid of knocking on other people's doors. For example: Please raise your children to not be heathens. Or, seriously, have you never once heard no running in the house? It's a staple of American parents EVERYWHERE. Or maybe go the practicality route: It's really inconvenient to have to keep replacing the hooks we hang our art on because your kids are literally shaking our house apart.
The best is when the pounding is accompanied by them screaming--it's cute for about ten seconds, happy little kid yips of joy are sort of endearing. But then it gets out of hand. And then we cue in Mom, who flies off the handle quickly and without warning, and then a chorus of STOP IT STOP IT STOP IT starts and we all feel like we live in an episode of Nanny 911.
The moral of the story is that daylight savings time and the Broadway circus have really just been putting my heart and mind on edge these days--and that's when I put living in Arizona and quiet children on my list of things to pray for.