6:40 a.m. That is what time the toddler upstairs started running on my face. More often than not, I wake to the sound of her little feet slapping the hardwood above our heads. Yesterday it was 7 a.m. She runs back and forth, from one end of the upstairs apartment to the other, from about 7 a.m. to 8 p.m. Since we moved in last April. And it’s making me crazy.
The insulation between apartments in this building is so poor that we can hear the upstairs neighbors’ iPhone buzz when it’s on vibrate. Dear neighbors, I do not need to know that you have an iPhone or that the person who just called you left a message. Or what time your child naps, wakes up, and goes to bed. I also don’t need your yippy dog making matters worse.
We tried to sleep with earplugs. We bought a noise machine. We complained to the neighbors upstairs. They refused to put a rug down and told us to suck it up. That was September.
We hoped they would sell 715 Pine St., Apt. 5. We willed them to move into the new home they bought in the ‘burbs. To no avail.
And so. We are moving in 12 days. And I. Can’t. Wait.