Here's Your Sign

Empty garage, boxes in my car...and the question is posed:

Are you moving?

Under normal circumstances, I would laugh out loud, as would the poser of the question, because it would be easily recognized as rhetorical. Not in this case, however. It was a serious question. It was asked expecting an answer. Now, because the person asking is as far away from my heart as common sense is to Lindsay Lohan, I couldn't think of what to say fast enough. I was at a corssroads of confirming my reservation to hell, or being kind and compassionate to the mentally handicapped. I suppose I should let you know who asked. My neighbor. The Rock Band expert, lawyer extraordinaire, arse munch that lives below me. I simply said, "yup." But then he did something even more retarded and asked why. Oh...my...really?

I could have went a number of ways. Why am I moving? I miss silence. I would like my kids to be able to sleep as opposed to listening to your feral brood scream at O-dark thirty. I miss a hymn-less evening. Don't care to hear Jonah and the Whale, Veggie-tales, the 3rd, 4th, 5th and 6th degrees of heaven, the Annual LDS conference from 1999 or crying at 150 decibels. If I wanted to be disturbed at that level I would camp out on an airport runway. I miss walking to my front door without having to sidestep moonrocks, or landscaping littering my walkway. I miss the lack of sidewalk chalk surrounding my front door. I miss my son being able to go play without getting cold-cocked by a plastic lightsaber because your son believes he is a phucking Jedi. I miss looking outside and sipping on coffee from my balcony in peace, rather than watching your kids swinging from a tree branch like phucking chimps. I miss taking my dog outside and having him simply pee instead of answering 75 questions about what kind of dog he is and if he will bite your kids. He will bite your kids because he likes the taste of unkempt humanity.

Mostly, I miss having stimulating conversation with intelligent life. I hate our one word conversations...you saying hi and me closing my door. I hate having to put in headphones to walk to my car so you get the idea I am not interested in conversation with you, but seeing you try to talk to me anyway. I hate your gazes and the fact your torture your wife with your penis and making her raise ANOTHER child she will never see. I hate the fact that you as worthless as a bag if dicks at a Fever game. I hate hearing you, seeing you, listening to anything coming from below me and the zoo that is the front window of your apartment. I hate the doorbell ringing at 945PM and then, when I answer it, no one is there...even though I heard your door close just after the bell rang....only to have it happen again. But I realllllly hate having to control myself from dragging you outside and pulling a Lorena Bobbit to spare humanity from another misconceived notion of populating the Earth.

Be gone with you...