Noise, noise, noise
The apartment situation does not seem to be any better. We’re supposed to call the police — but I don’t want to keep living somewhere I need to phone the police and the landlord day in, day out. (Luckily, the noise regulations where I live are very strict — we shouldn’t be able to hear sounds above 45dB from them, ever, and not over 40 at nights. At its quietest, it’s around 55. So who knows.)
So my roommate (thank god we get along) and I are looking for a new place. We saw one that’s wonderful — but too expensive; we’d need a third person. Huge! With a fireplace! If they want us . . . and if the old place can’t be solved (which would pretty much require the people upstairs leaving; I can’t live thinking that any day might be the day they start blasting their music again) . . .
It’s a measure, I think, of how unhappy I am that this makes me think Oh, obviously I should just quit my program and go home.