tell me about it

It’s bloody 10.30am and I’m so freaking angry.

First Monday I have to sleep in for 10 weeks.

8am: Right outside my bloody window, there’s some gigantic ratchet thing rat-tat-tatting away like a bloody 2-ton machine gun. I drift in and out of tortured sleep. I have snippets of dreams where the sound is that of a high-powered laser-sight rifle in my arms and I am brutally murdering every construction worker in sight from my window.

8.15am: Dad comes in and cheerfully shouts, “So noisy you still can sleep?” jolting me out of my stupor and waking me bloody up.

8.30am: I retreat into Joel’s room, closing my windows and shutting my door, and the clanking noise is miraculously much reduced. I fall asleep for about five minutes on his floor before he decides he’d rather go to work than listen to this noise. I crawl into his bed and fall asleep.

10am: EVEN THOUGH THE CLANKING OUTSIDE STOPS, MY BLOODY UPSTAIRS NEIGHBORS DECIDE IT IS A GOOD DAY TO RENOVATE THEIR FREAKING BATHROOM. DIRECTLY ABOVE OUR FREAKING HEADS. THREE FREAKING DRILLS GOING NONSTOP. I drift in and out of tortured sleep. I dream that I am Venom, crawling up the walls and bloodily ripping the throats out of every drill-wielder upstairs.

10.15am: Dad comes in and cheerfully shouts, “So noisy you still can sleep?” jolting me out of my stupor and waking me bloody up past the point of no bloody return.

10.30am: I actually let out a wounded, furious howl into my pillow which no one can hear anyway because of the incredible noise level. I storm outside, demanding to know when we can move house.

Seriously. The racket is unbelievable. It’s damaging to my ears, my sleep, my mind, because it really drives you nuts. My anger level is just rising and rising and I want to kill someone.