My awful neighbors are soul-sucking ghouls.
I do not want to go on another rant about them.
I sat shivering behind the reference desk, watching students bounce off the invisible shield and scribbling notes about medical journals for class. I was surprised later on to discover that Scott sometimes visits the academic library, and he stopped to chat over my mountain of encyclopedias. "Oh, yes, I'm making friends again now that I'm back in school," I said. "Oh? I thought you had friends. What happened to all the little gay people at your wedding?" He's gay himself, and thought John was cute. He seemed sad when I told him that the beautiful John was studying to be an accountant.
In the afternoon, as I inched home through the Honolulu traffic, I noticed that my hands were trembling slightly, I felt a bit weak. I wondered whether it was nutrition or homework that was causing a strain on my system. The fight with our neighbors immediately upon arriving home didn't help. I sank like jelly into the couch and poked my fingers into my ears as the argument outside quickly turned into a neighborhood-wide affair. We won, but I still find my fingers wobbling as I type. Nothing a shot of whiskey can't take care of, maybe.
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