The end of that tale is that someone or some system at HC got all wonkified and e-mails were sent out in error...apparently...that the book was out of stock and had to be back ordered.
Yeah. Old news. But, in the midst of messaging back and forth with an actual person working for the publisher, I received an e-mail from someone who assured me that he/she/it was happy that I was going to keep my order for software (ordered a book) and that because they never know what future books will cost they cannot honor my request for a 20% discount on future purchase(s). The discount was offered by the real person, not something I requested, and I had written back that I do not really buy books anymore, so I would not be using the offered-by-them discount.
End of story. Go Set A Watchman was a very good book. I have since heard from other folk that they did not like the book, one person refused to even talk about it, and that they had read many negative reviews about it. I am thinking that it might be that I was alive and living that period of society and racism and that that might be why I love the book so much. Whatever.
The thing that brings me back to write is the need to write something out of my mind and body. The couple in the downstairs flat have never stopped fighting. For months it was relatively not so bad. The fights would start. Would go on for a bit and since I was awake I took advantage of being awake and used the bathroom. After a while, I could affect the noise level of the fights by just getting up right away and walking loudly to the bathroom.
Several times this month alone there have been longer and louder fights no matter how much I try to make my presence known. I find it really difficult to believe that I can hear so much of what happens down there and they seem to be unable to hear me, although to be honest, it is still a disturbing experience and that sort of keeps me more quiet than I ordinarily am.
Today it began outside, as it sometimes does. I cannot imagine what that is about, but it happens. Getting up did nothing and the fight began at 2:30 a.m. and continued inside and outdoors until I could not bear all of the swearing and yelling and crying. So, I pulled up my big girl panties, shoved myself into a pair of slacks, put on a jacket over my night shirt and went downstairs.
The short story is that I walked to the front of the house and waited until they noticed me from where they were arguing on the porch. When they did, I asked if there was anything I could do to help and he apologized and said he was trying to stay quiet and she started yelling about it was all her fault and when I stepped on the the first step and said that it probably was not, she began yelling at me. That this was none of my business. To mind my own business and to just go away and mind my own business. I stepped down, turned and began the walk back to the side door. She kept yelling about this was not my business and I turned back. She stopped and I told her that it really was sort of my business because "this" happens all the time and it means that I am woken and cannot go back to sleep.
Silence. So, I came back upstairs. I was shaking and beginning to cry and quickly closed and locked my door. I was a while before I could stop shaking and it bothers me so much how difficult is was to go down there, what a risk and danger it felt like. But, that is what my landlord has been encouraging me to do, even though I no longer mention the fights to him, he asks me about the situation every time I see him.
There is no reason I should still be so fearful of the fighting. For fuck's sake, it has been three years now since that other life and I have been working my fucking ass off working to recover and heal from all that crap and when I finally find a nice place to live, here in the village where my daughter and her family live, I am still hearing all of that crap.
But, that is not about me, nor is it directed to me. I have talked to both of them several times in the past six months after finally gathering the courage to share how this affects me with them. Nothing has worked, not really. Today's fight began, what, 2:30 and I went down there at 4:00 and there have been several really loud part of the continuing fight, which finally seems to be over as of quarter past five. My guess is that they are tired and need sleep so that they can go to work in the morning. They get over it.
Here I sit, spewing this out, trying to release the panic. I have stopped being all shaky. Have a headache and wonder how much coffee it will take to keep me going for the rest of the day. It is nearly 6:00 a.m., early for me to get up. Oh, yeah, I am already up.
I am partly angry with them, still am concerned about their welfare, and really pissed at myself for being bothered by any of this. It is time for me to be over feeling so scared and vulnerable when someone else is fighting. In one aspect I admire them for standing up to each other. I could never do that. I could not answer back or defend myself, much less fight back. Maybe things would have been different if I had challenged his behavior. I will never know, so it is stupid to ponder what might have been.
I have already signed a new lease for the next year. Just did that a few weeks back, so I am stuck here unless I come up with some ideas about how to raise money, find a job or something to buy my way out of the lease.
So stupid. Out of the fire, for sure, but only flipped out into the ashy part on the edges where the flames nip at my ass as I cower there. Okey-dokey. Done. Fuck.