Right now, as I’m currently writing this, there is a backhoe about 75 feet away digging up someone’s driveway. Forward, backward. BEEP. BEEP. BEEP. BEEP. BEEP. Forward, backward. BEEP. BEEP. BEEP. BEEP. BEEP. Times that by 100.
This new apartment–which is absolutely gorgeous, btw–is the loudest place I have ever lived in my entire 60 years of existence on Earth. We have:
The aforementioned backhoe:
M-100s that go off at all times of the day and night. They are so close that I have to pick up debris from them off my patio every day. And yes, it really is that loud–louder, actually:
Roosters that can’t tell time:
Dogs, dogs, and more dogs. So many dogs. There is a tiny one next door that barks for hours on end, and it is the most piercing bark ever.
A crying baby across the hall:
Construction workers building a pool next door:
The metal worker behind my apartment:
My neighbors slamming their big wooden doors:
Workers repairing water pipes in the building:
Car alarms:
And, I forgot to mention, that when the sun goes down and you want to open your big sliding glass doors to let some cool air in, you can’t, because the neighbors are burning their trash and the smell is absolutely toxic.
But here’s the real tragedy: Will you look at this apartment?
It’s amazing! And that patio big enough to play soccer on!
But alas, I can’t do all this noise. I’m hoping to find a new place for mid-February. I’ll keep you posted.
ECUADORIOUS 