2003-02-05 - 3:30 a.m.

I�m not sure when exactly it all started, but I do know that one of my finest days was spent at Mt. Alvernia grade school in Newton, when I did something bad, and Sister Edna (we all called her Sister Ed behind her back--a quadruple entendre)--Sister Ed gave me a choice.

As punishment, I could skip gym or recess.

I loved Gym. Always on Friday--the penultimate weekend experience, geometrically square and culinarily flat Friday pizza in belly, and it was something different, and you got to change outta yer brown dress pants, yellow button-down dress shirt, and brown tie. And wear your gym uniform home. And sneakers.

I mean, Gym on Friday was the best part of my school week. No way I was giving that up.

Sister Ed was pretty pissed at whatever it was that I did, and I thought about it--she had a trick up her robe starched sleeve--I knew it. I thought about skipping recess, always boring as all hell �cause boys played with boys and girls with girls, and there were but eight boys in my class, and I was 3rd to last in the pecking order, with possibly the biggest loser ever being the last, and a kid with tubes in his ears the second last--and everyone liked hockey (foreshadowing to my high school days), no, recess was not my ideal way to kill some time.

OK--I choose Gym class, I said, I�ll play at recess and take my punishment by having to skip Gym.

And I let her smugly proffer me with the twist I had already sniffed out.

If you wanna go to recess so badly, than that�s what you shall be forced to skip. You must, however, go to Gym.

And I won. I got what I wanted, �cause I was able to read between the lines.

And that�s how I get into trouble sometimes--I can see the motivation behind everything, and I�ve kinda adapted to it over the years. It�s not that I�m really lying to people (and not the way I did to Sister Ed--obviously I�ve grown since then), but every now and then, if I see a good, safe spot to do it, I might push people in a direction I just might want them to go.

Don�t think I�m evil, though--everyone everyone everyone everyone plants seeds--even if they don�t realize it.

But all�s frickin� fair when you battle the best--the folks that don�t even care.

Downstairs neighbor, who screamed at me yesterday, �caused quite the scene, left a Hallmark card under our door today.

Oh yeah, she knows how to play it.

This morning, after the screaming, the Roommate pre-empts downstairs neighbor�s promised strike, and calls the landlord to explain the situation. And she gets the landlord on our side. Check.

I do some laundry, and the weird guy from 6B follows me down the stairs and into the basement laundry room, giving me his backing (which was nice), giving me a little history on the place--he�s been living here for ten years. He confirmed what I heard earlier (from the ghost)--yes, the Cosby Brownstone used to be a hotel years ago. Apparently, several apartment-generations ago, the building was bad news, and my unit was a nonstop, full octane party, inhabited by coke dealers who passed out duplicate keys to the building like Chick tracts. Landlords did nothing about it--they pay their rent, they said. Which flashed me back to a conversation I had with the landlord/realty lady right before I signed the lease, where she admitted that the one thing she didn�t wanna do was get involved in disputes between tenants. Oh, and apparently the folks that moved outta here when we moved in were loud loud loud loud loud and also abrasive, and three people, not two, and that the scary people in the apartment next door to mine, with the go away doormat are actually scary, and sometimes have relationship donnybrooks in vestibules and staircases. Oh, and that our screaming downstairs neighbor has sleeping problems--which confirmed my suspicion that she ain�t just sticking up for her daughter.

So, compared to the rest, we�re pretty ideal. Checkmate.

Armed with a pretty good, well thought out counter-argument, and with the balls of someone who is both assured of rightness and actually prepared, I didn�t really wanna go home tonight, but was ready to do it, and secretly welcoming another midnight visit from downstairs neighbor.

Bring it on.

As I said to Jonee today--I can�t wait to go home and practice my jump-kicks down my hallway.

But, lo, a Hallmark card. An I�m sorry card. I wonder if this lady�s got a whole box of �em, for convenience sake.

Scrawled out in bubbly townie block cursive--

I have been kicking myself ALL day for my behavior last night. I apologize IMMENSELY. I was agitated because my daughter has been waking up due to the TV/Radio and I should have been rational but I wasn�t, and for that, I apologize. I feel like such a fool for acting like a �crazy woman� please find it in your heart to forgive me. I will NEVER behave like that again.�

Oh so smooth.

She got to blow up--make her point big ass time, and knew that she couldn�t get away with it twice. Knew she�d get defeated if she pressed it too hard. The landlord basically told us to stand up to her--that we�re too polite and that sometimes some people take advantage of that type of behavior.

I was ready to fight, I was ready to stand up for myself, and all I needed was for her to come up one more time.

But that ain�t gonna happen. I got an apology instead, one I didn�t really want or care for, that still managed to get a knock in.

And I haven�t made a noise all night. In fact, I�ve been stuck in a ridiculous ethical argument with myself about this very issue for the past 24 hours, about obligation, personal freedom, and where to draw the line. Believe you me, it�s been going on forever, and I just feel so bad for that woman--more nervous than screaming, crafty, yes, deceitful, yes, less than honest, yes, unreasonable, at the very most perhaps, and what if I was her?

But I gotta live my life. I�m not a house guest. And I deal with bullshit all day and all day and all day, and can�t I just get home and watch TV? However, this woman has problems sleeping, and it bothers her so much that my goddamn TV is on that she brings her daughter into it, tries to blame me for her daughter�s grades, when more likely thathas nothing to do with me and more to do with the lady that yelled at me last night, and then I just feel bad for the little girl, and then I feel bad again for the downstairs neighbor, and I think about the Hallmark card and just wanna go downstairs and say something like it�s OK--everyone vents, or make another concession, even though both are way way way more than necessary--I already made my sacrifices, I never vent around strangers, and let�s not forget that I already made my concessions, perhaps too many too soon, and in the meantime...

She won.

Well, Sister Edna, I really hope we�re even now.