I am gettin sick (literally) because my neighbor has taken to either acrobatic sex or cleaning the bedroom during the wee hours of the morning, when everyone’s in bed but even Buddhists and dog walkers aren’t awake yet.  Now, the rules are, tell the management.  I tried a sweet little note first, but that didn’t work.  I know; I should be a grown-up and talk to them.  But, for one, the office discourages it, and I don’t wanna find myself apartment shopping.  For another thing, me in my underwear, beard matted, eyes red and my tired fury at its peak — would not lead to a pleasant or fruitful exchange.

I think how angry this and other things make me should be a signal that I need to change something.  I’m flirting with resuming a mediation practice (hence the playful jab at early-rising Buddhists).  But meditation is hard work, and I am a lazy man.  So it’s slow-going.