Hate living in apartments. No idea how badly my sound carries through the walls, but I’ve had a history of carrying a grudge against my neighbors over how much I can hear them. I have to wonder if they can hear just as much of me as I do them, so I constrict myself and my activities in my own damned apartment, trying to be nice, quiet, unnoticeable, just so they won’t have any ammo to hate me with. This is bullshit.
Found myself turning my subwoofer all the way down because I’m listening to music after midnight. All the way down? Really? I can hear no bass. Actually, I can barely hear the music, because I’m wanting to be blameless, blameless against people I don’t even know. Complete strangers who share my wall and floor. Once bitten, twice shy, I’m sure. But why the stricture to this extreme?
It’s no wonder that my lifelong love of listening to and making music has completely died. I can’t feel it anymore. Can’t get into it without the impending fear of hearing that thud, that stomp, that slap on the floor, that bang next door that maybe, just maybe, is a signal from my neighbors demanding me to turn it down. Hell, it’s the kind of thing I’d do if I were them. So any unexpected low-frequency thud I hear pushes me, shell-shocked, into turning it down, laying low, losing my vibe with the music, just to listen for further signals that my neighbors might be sending me. By then, the joy is gone, and I’m conscious of The Other People. I can’t enjoy myself anymore.
I hate apartments. A house is right out of my budget. And a strong sense of self is too expensive to maintain.
Never mind. I’ll rant again when I have real problems.