Yes, at times I want to do a Mary Tyler Moore: Tossing my hat into the air, while singing, “You’re gonna make it after all…” I’m not singing that television theme song this morning.
I woke early, after little sleep. I tossed and turned most of the night due to being extremely hot. Night sweats will do that to a gal. I finally decided to get my ass up. Coffee sounded good. The early morning darkness and the thought of cool air was inviting. Trying not to wake my fella, I got up – made coffee and came into the living room. I opened the window…ready for the crisp silence to flow in. Not what I received.
A saw-blade hitting concrete greeted my ears as I lifted the window. Loud, jarring and flat out rude, considering it was a little after 6am. The noise pollution was so loud, and so obnoxious; I only opened the window a few inches, as I needed some air. It was a far fetch from what I was anticipating. Far cry from what I was craving and wanting…silence. Early morning silence. I think everyone deserves this slice of solace in the wee hours, and I’ve been cheated out of mine.
For now, the mornings of birds chirping, while the wind finds its way through the trees creating a symphony of natural relaxing music is gone. The pay off? Cheap rent and walking to work.
The sky is now orange. The darkness is gone. The noise remains. It will be raining soon and I’m sure I will simply slump back into the bed and sleep the rest of the morning away. What a waste of the wee hours, which used to hold such delight for me.
Before I crawl back into bed, I need to call the Sewage and Water Board again. We called several times in the last month. Our water pressure has been lacking since Isaac. Barely enough pressure for a shower…or waiting an hour for the tub to fill up.
I called them yesterday – explaining that we had called before with no results. I was told that a SUPERVISOR tried to come out – but was unable to reach us due to all the construction. What a complete load of shit. The side street is wide open for traffic. People are making it into the French Quarter to go to work everyday. It might be a hassle, but it is nowhere near impossible. “Oh, really? Is the supervisor an amputee without a wheelchair?” I asked, in disbelief. “Is this supervisor unable to park the vehicle and actually walk to our building?” My questions were met with silence, and not the silence I long for. I was told, after my perfectly valid rant, that someone would be out today (yesterday,) and I would receive a follow up call. No call and no results. Trying to take a shower is like being pissed on from a dry bladder.
I have a hard time with accepting the lack of customer service that is a constant in New Orleans. I won’t go into how landlords get away with murder – or how the City Government is joke and never consistent – or how the police are scary and unreliable. No, I won’t go into that rant. I’ll save that for when I have some early morning, bird chirpin’, wind a-blowin’ bliss.