(NOT) Truly

Written on April Fools' Day last year, but not a joke; just publishing today:

Of course. The day after Easter Sunday. Sun shining warmly. Spring in the air. Birds singing.

AND THE SHITHOLE NEIGHBOR TURNS ON LOUD TALK RADIO OUTSIDE RIGHT ON THE OTHER SIDE OF OUR FENCE.

Without pausing to consider, I fumed out loud, "TRULY, DIE IN A FUCKING *FIRE*".

Immediately following saying those words, the radio was shut off.

*****

While I'm grateful their self-centered, insensate, inconsiderate noise ceased, I still felt stressed out. Why does one have to complain at all for somebody to stop and consider the unwanted negative SPREAD of their noisy disease and its impact on others, and choose NOT to do that?

I do not actually want to have confrontations with neighbors. I do not actually enjoy verbalizing and spreading unpleasant feelings. I just cannot comprehend how so many people do not see forcing noise on strangers or people living in close proximity as a deeply upsetting personal attack and openly hostile display of not giving a fuck about anyone around them.

People who shit on others without shame are NOT TRUSTWORTHY. That is how I feel, anyway. But I know with my rational mind that many, if not most, of these noisemakers are not intentionally shitting on others. They are mostly oblivious, or careless, or do not process sounds and other stimuli the same way as those of us who hear and feel it like hammers pounding in our heads and guts. They do not care about birds, nor are they capable of enjoying sunshine in silence.

*****

I do not truly want our new shithole neighbors to die in a fire. If I saw them on fire I would rush to help them. I would even rush to help them if their house was burning even if I knew they were not in it.

Probably the worst I really wish for is the ability to blow up their stereo using the power of my mind and melt its surrounding container into a pool of angry lava without actually hurting anybody. Okay, maybe I do want a cinder or two to land on their crotch and singe their jeans and blister the head of their hipster needledick just enough to raise a single blister and leave a tiny scar.