Basement Apartment

I’m having difficulty coping with living in a basement apartment. It’s not as though it’s new to me. I’ve been living in this humble abode for almost a year now, and before that it was another dungeon for almost a year.

This renewed dedication to being a basement-dweller isn’t really by choice. After university days, I thought I was through with basements forever. I thought, hooray for me, it’s onward and upward from here, literally. But we don’t always get what we want, what we think we deserve, what we think time owes us. I’m not allowed to rule out living in someone’s basement for the simple fact that housing costs are ridiculous and my wage is barely enough to live on. So here I sit. My sanity grasping at straws, my patience wearing really, really thin.

It’s so frustrating. I know I may have sensory issues (thanks to self-diagnosing on the web, yay!), and I know that the people living above me are not doing anything unreasonable. But I live here too, I pay money to live here too, I pay them to live here too, and I think that means that I shouldn’t be expected to just tolerate constant overhead noise on a bloody hardwood floor. Why do people who rent their basements think it’s okay to have hardwood floors? Not to mention, they have a whole bloody house to be annoying in, why do they have to do it directly above my little bachelor suite?

I’m especially perturbed these days, as it would seem that their little bundle of joy just received a gift for his first birthday. Sounds like one of these fucking things:

auditory torture

auditory torture

So what’s an anxiety-ridden introvert to do?

Cope?

I’m so tired of just coping.

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2 thoughts on “Basement Apartment

  1. Aaron says:

    Ugh – I am SO glad I live outside of the city limits now, it’s the best thing ever! (not to rub it in) I get claustrophobic in neighborhoods now, I cannot imagine how awful it would be in your situation.

    I think we would be remiss to not consider other scenarios that could be occurring here. Here are some ideas about what could actually be happening upstairs:
    – They have a prototype Roomba that not only cleans but strips and waxes the wood floors
    – They are from Holland and exclusively wear wooden shoes
    – They have a disabled dog; they can afford a cart to drag the dog around in, but cannot afford wheels for the cart
    – They are only focused on themselves and think nothing of the consequences of their actions and how it will affect the poor woman living below them.

    I would be inclined to lean towards the Roomba idea, but what do I know! 😉 Have a great day Ms. Poppins!

  2. marypoppinz says:

    Well, sometimes I do imagine that “the upstairs” is actually a parallel realm where time doesn’t exist and they’re forced to play an endless game of musical chairs.

    And some days, it’s not that deep, resonating low frequency vibration that feet and robotic vacuums, clogs and disabled puppies cause. Sometimes it’s something much, much worse: LEGO. Or as I like to imagine, fiendish people crouching close to their floors, cruelly playing fetch with their one year old son.

    Sometimes imagination sucks.

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