538017_10200400947004417_619407107_n

 

I’m not spending my usual lunch break working on my current manuscript because my brain is too addled to focus on fiction. I am dealing with a situation in my personal life were I am being bullied by my upstairs neighbor. Let’s just call him the stomper. Notice I refuse to give him power by not capitalizing his name. It’s a title that surely fits because that is exactly what he does.

Every evening he bounds up the stairs. The painting over my house wavers. The ceiling fan shakes. Then he turns on his TV or stereo or whatever it is that sends a booming noise through my ceiling. He sometimes follows me from room to room, feet pounding against my ceiling as if he were right there physically stalking me.

I pound a broom handle against the ceiling and he leave me a snippy note. He accuses me of slamming my door when I take my dog outside in the morning. I wasn’t before, but I’m sure as hell slamming my door now. 4:08 am and I wake up to the boom boom booming noise over my head. Then he stomps off to the toilet and the walls tremble under his girth. I have nightmares of this monster.

It should probably be prefaced that I have post traumatic stress syndrome thanks to abusive brain damaged psycho ex and I am admittedly hyper-sensitive to noise. I’m also overly determined to never EVER be anyone’s victim, not again. The stomper picked the wrong bitch to try to torment.

Odessa tells me to calm down and stop stressing and making myself sick. She’s a force to be reckoned with. I know this. Yet, the stomper is on the verge of causing me to have a nervous breakdown. Dess gets seething mad. Her Beloved then steps in and gets even.

He was a very powerful man in his previous incarnation. No one fucked with him or his and Odessa was most definitely his. If someone were to treat Odessa the way the stomper is tormenting me, he would have marched up those stairs to confront of the stomper. There would have been threat of his knees being altered to where there wouldn’t be anymore stomping in the stomper’s near future. He would have made the stomper apologize. He would have sent that sorry sack of shit packing.

I am turning this ordeal over to Odessa’s Beloved. He says he’s got this, so I must trust in him. Odessa is so angry that there could be carnage in her wake. That’s why it’s best to let her Beloved fight for us.

As it is willed… so mote it shall be…

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s