Fuck you, 2409
It is past 1 a.m. The lunatics are screaming again.
Mom keeps taking mini strokes. The cat needs Prozac. I nod off at my desk.
I sleep in on weekends now. They can scream for six or eight hours before they pass out.
I lose my whole day on Sundays. But it beats being up and trying to work on two hours’ rest (nightmares notwithstanding).
I cannot have dumbfuckery. Cannot. Cannot. This place costs too motherfucking much. Wonder if I can get evicted for complaining too much?