Annoying neighbors

All settled in with Luna and Rose on the bed, freshly showered and everything. Fell asleep, restlessly, around 11:00.
Around 11:30 I heard what seemed to be firecrackers.
My bedroom window is directly above the front yard. If a car alarm goes off, I hear it. If some neighbor kids are blaring music, I hear it. If lovers fight, I hear it.
So, firecrackers.
Bam pow boom crackle crack crack boom.
The cats were getting nervous. I was getting irritated. But I fell back asleep, and Rose inched up next to me, and I put my arm around her and tried to calm her.
Around 12:00, bright white lights flashed in a massive burst and lit up the night. Followed, of course, by crazy firecracker booming noises.
At this point, I seriously contemplated calling the local police about a noise disturbance.
I called Adam instead. He suggested I ignore it, because stupid kids will be stupid kids. But see, I have a fear of fire. I panic if I even imagine a fire starting in this little townhouse community. And the lights and noises were coming from the wide yard directly across from my house. Adam talked me down for a bit. I went back to sleep. The noises stopped.
Okay, so who decided to set off fucking fireworks at 11:30 on a Wednesday night in August, in a townhouse community where there are families? Probably the same assholes who blare music at six in the morning on a Monday. Or the ones who leave trash scattered all over the sidewalk because they don't have trash service and assume that the trash people will just pick up random garbage lying around. Oh, that's always a fun thing to see.
I get that people might be insomniac and want to do shit when they can't sleep. Great. Fine. But try to do it quietly. And clean up when you're done. (For example, my roommate has cooked food in the middle of the night without washing his dishes, leaving a sticky encrusted mess in the sink the next day, which is especially irritating when my husband and I had spent time together washing everything in the sink beforehand. One time, I spent five minutes on a plastic bowl with a Brillo pad, and I will say that it really helps with getting the frustration vented. I don't know and don't care what the fuck was all over that bowl that needed a Brillo pad to be battled, but it was gross, and attacking it helped me calm down after a while. I've started seeing dishwashing as a perfect outlet for physically venting irritation and frustration. I may have injured a spoon or two, though.)
The point is, I can't comprehend what goes through my neighbors' heads at night sometimes.

The Great Writers' Secret

Lenny: It's a secret!
Carl: Shh! Shut up!!

You had to be there

My roommate Jason just sat down with me for a long conversation, because he has been concerned about me. We had a deep, animated discussion, throughout which I twitched and fidgeted and rubbed my sore neck and tried not to breathe so fast. By the end of it, I realized just how incredibly stressed and frustrated I've been. I've been downright hostile. I didn't even realize.

We talked about creativity and artistic talent, the poetic musician and the fantasy writer. How sometimes you just need a gods damned fucking break. How creativity doesn't always flow, how it's not so easy, that sense of personal obligation; how sometimes the pipes get clogged and you need to flush everything out, breathe and breathe. If you don't even know you're not breathing you can't do much to fix it.
I love this story so much that I've been drowning in it and I need to breathe for a couple of days.

(Long story. Something to tell later. Not now.)

I'm going to meditate. And then I am going to do some random writing exercises. And then I am going to stick my nose in that bottle of lotion that contains pink lotus and jasmine and helichrysum and I'm going to inhale a few times. Maybe give myself a massage in the shower.

Holy fuck, I am tense beyond tension.
No idea, I had no idea until someone pointed it out. He gets it, he understands, he knows, and I was grateful, because he said some things that I should have realized. I just need to breathe.

Dana and Ian and Kara and Alex and Jeremy are waiting patiently, and I thank my writerbrain, because the words are there and the story is there and it is all waiting, and right now I am going to write something else just for tonight. Clear everything out. Breathe. Fucking breathe.
Writerbrain will understand.

Long screaming exhale, and done.

This has been a Confession. Please do not tell me things like, "If you really feel like this, maybe you should stop writing the book." Because if you do, you don't know me very well, and I also will probably do something unpleasant to your internal organs. Do not talk shit about my baby.
This was a venting session and nothing more. I am going to finish my book soon and that is a solemn swear on my honor.