Not to keep picking at this scab

I know I need to start shaking this stuff off before it begins to control my every waking thought. To that end I hope this will be the last that I will mention the shitwits living above me, at least for the weekend.

B had slept late this morning. His sleeping has been so poor of late due to this conflict that when he does sleep soundly I let him go for as long as he can.

I'd gone out to run a short errand while he slept and I got home a few minutes before 11am. We were sitting and talking about the errand I'd run when Herr Loud started up with the TV again. Beyond loud this time. Loud to the point where it literally sounded like the sound was being blasted over a PA stytem. We had to raise our voices to keep taking and as B has a spinal chord injury and very diminished control of his diaphragm he can't talk very loudly.

If there's one thing I've learned over the years it's to recognize bait when it's being thrown in front of me and that taking such bait normally isn't a good idea.

So we waited. Only took him about four minutes to get that I wasn't going to holler up at him or bang on the pipes or kick down his door and flog the daylights out of him. He didn't get the results he wanted so he turned the volume back down.

Big pansy. Hell, I'd have at least have tried to drive me crazy for ten minutes before giving up.

He must have gone out this afternoon because it stayed quiet. Oh, did I neglect to mention that he goes downtown in his wheelchair by himself, completely unaccompanied? This is the man who is supposed to be so brain damaged that he's unable to control his actions.

This evening as I was upstairs getting supper from my MILs apartment B reported that he began again turning the TV up loud. Someone must have said something to him because he began to whine loudly (and is there any other way with him?) like a petulent three year old but turned the TV back down.

There. See? Wasn't so hard after all, was it?