The downstairs neighbor (or rather, her belligerent douchebag boyfriend) was at it again last night, cranking the music up with as far as I can tell the specific intent of pissing her and the rest of the house off. They've gotten at least one disorderly house fine, several visits from the police on noise complaints, and a sternly worded letter from the landlady and on more than one occasion we've heard him turning the noise up and her turning it back down and them fighting about it. He knows he's getting her evicted.
Upshot being I didn't sleep much, not nearly enough to recover fully from yesterday and go in to work at 515. Work was... pretty god damn busy, and I've been feeling dimly nauseous and fairly foggy most of the day. So I came home and washed my tattoo and laid on the couch in my piejams and watched stupid television for the afternoon and now Delia is making supper.
My feet didn't hurt much at/after work. I've worked slightly fewer hours this week but not a lot, and have gone comparably pain free. This seems to be a marked improvement. And despite feeling sort of tired and crapped out physically in other ways (I think feeling a little bit drained after the ink experience is reasonable, especially given that I didn't have a good opportunity to sleep it off), my mood isn't suffering a lot. I mean, I didn't want to be at work, but I don't normally want to be at work at the end of the week when I've only slept a few hours. So all in all, not miserable, not dipping into too much anxiety (Kris the tattoo lady said she's been taking B vits as of recently as well and they're helping her anxiety a lot), and feeling like I'll be able to get things done and enjoy myself throughout my next couple of lighter days (and Sunday off - off of everything, even choir).
Also, I had violently apocalyptic dreams last night. Not nightmares... definitely frightening but fear wasn't the central part of the dream and I didn't wake up upset. Only had fragments when I came out, but committed what I could to memory. It was all very bright... very sunny (outside), very clay colored. Terra cotta and dust. People were dying of... something. I don't know if it was plague, or what, but they were rotting away, like some combination of sepsis and gangrene. Not in a zombie way, though... everyone was still aware. Spitting up green, blotched and soft, bloating like corpses. I was in a house full of survivors (some of us were survivors longer than others). Boarded up, chaos on the outside, don't really know what was going on. When I left... I was alone. But I don't think I was the last person alive in the house, maybe we just all split up at that point. I don't feel like I knew much about any of those people. Anyway, I found my way toward people who had lived through at least that wave of whatever was happening. There was some kind of semi-organized gathering place, a cafeteria or meeting hall or something, and I was befriended by two Indian people (a man and a woman; siblings or good friends). We decided to stick together... I have a dim sense of there being some kind of authority, sort of. A presence trying, if sternly, to keep us safe, and a threat from the outside but I don't know if it was the sickness or something more sentiently malicious or what. I kept trying to convince them to go back to my house so I could get some of my things (cell phones still seemed to be working, and I wanted mine, and my ipod, and a couple of other things). I'm unclear now whether my house was where I'd been with all the dying people or not. I also feel like I had some other reason for wanting to go back that I was hesitant to tell them, but I don't remember what it was.
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