Tiled wall

Sometimes I have a moody day and then I often think about a neighbor that used to live next to me. Her husband wasn’t as much at home as she was, but that is only my humble perception based on the frequency I saw both their cars. At that time I was away from home every day, either on my way to work, to the university, to a museum or another place of interest. Not to mention the many occasions I was out with a friend for a drink or to have dinner. Those were the days: it was a life without M.E.

But back to my neighbor. I had the sincere impression she was suffering from heartache. The biggest clue for that assumption (and that is all it is. I could be wrong from the very beginning, please make a mental note about that) was easy to pick up and very hard to ignore. Every now and then I would be startled by the sudden volume of her stereo. Once it even made me sit upright in bed. It was ‘Love Hurts’ by the band Nazareth. Who doesn’t know that famous song by the Scottish rock band from the seventies?
And I couldn’t help myself thinking she was hanging wasted on her sofa. Perhaps covered in tissues from wiping her tears and surrounded by empty bottles of some liquor with a high percentage of alcohol.
After I heard the song for the third time my pity for her was gone. Every time she was in her Love-Hurts-mood she continued to play it over and over again. Putting my head under my pillow was no option and I had no earplugs to protect myself. There was nothing left for me to do, but to go to my bathroom that was thanks to architectural insights next to her living room and I would start pounding on the tiled wall. With a broom.

For all we know the guy could be working on an oil platform and therefore be away from home for several weeks. It was either that or a mistress every other month, who knows… I have to admit: it still puzzles me thinking about that couple. I never knew if these presumed issues between her and the man supposed to be her husband were solved, because I moved to another city. The next tenant would either have to live with the neighbor’s musical choice or pound on the wall in the bathroom. Follow the cracked tiles.
A few years later this illness struck me by lightning and now I am on the sofa every day. When I am feeling blue I – which thankfully doesn’t happen that often, but there are days that I can’t but feel being trapped in my own body – I am covered in tissues to wipe away my tears. Gladly I am not surrounded by bottles of liquor. And my current neighbors will enjoy this: I have an mp3-player. In case you were wondering: there are no songs by Nazareth on it.

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