The gods hate me......
I know it is not the nice man with the power tools' fault that he has been hired to replace the door on the third floor trash room this morning.
Nor is it his fault that the stairwell that the garbage room abuts is essentially a massive echo chamber that picks up any vibrations, amplifies them, and sends them bouncing up and down the entirety of the stairwell, loudly tranferring the noise into anyone's bedroom that shares a wall with that stairwell (ie, me).
He cannot possibly be to blame for the fact that I have managed to get only a few hours of sleep each night this week and am on the verge of an exhaustion-based psychotic episode.
Or that I have to work the night shift and could have conceivably gotten 2 more hours of sleep had he not embarked on this project.
All of these thing I know.
However, somehow this knowledge does nothing to lessen my desperate urge to go upstairs and re-introduce him to his hand drill in a way the manufacturers never intended.
*buries head under pillow an tries to sneak a few more minutes of sleep*
Nor is it his fault that the stairwell that the garbage room abuts is essentially a massive echo chamber that picks up any vibrations, amplifies them, and sends them bouncing up and down the entirety of the stairwell, loudly tranferring the noise into anyone's bedroom that shares a wall with that stairwell (ie, me).
He cannot possibly be to blame for the fact that I have managed to get only a few hours of sleep each night this week and am on the verge of an exhaustion-based psychotic episode.
Or that I have to work the night shift and could have conceivably gotten 2 more hours of sleep had he not embarked on this project.
All of these thing I know.
However, somehow this knowledge does nothing to lessen my desperate urge to go upstairs and re-introduce him to his hand drill in a way the manufacturers never intended.
*buries head under pillow an tries to sneak a few more minutes of sleep*