Once upon a time I lived in a place where you could open the window to enjoy a most lovely fall day such as this, and you'd hear... nothing. Nothing but the breeze, anyway, and the occasional car passing by on the distant road.

Now, it's been several years since then, but it doesn't mean I don't miss it every single time I open the window and hear, like today, hammering, and the obscene dialogue of the men working on the balconies. I am especially bitter I think because I do not even have a balcony, being at ground level as I am, just a functionless patio I'll never use because really, I'd feel like I was in a fishbowl.

At my old apartment, it always seemed to be drilling. I don't know if it was the same people drilling something or other in their garage every single weekend or if they got together and made a schedule just to drive me insane. And then when the drilling ended, the obnoxious teenagers who loitered on my deadend street would gather. Or it was a motorcycle, because everyone in NH seemed to have one.

You wouldn't know it from any of this but I'm actually in a splendid mood. It really is a most gorgeous day.

But we found out today that our torts class is going to be at eight fucking fifteen twice a week next semester. Now that is just plain mean. And I even like torts. Just not at eight-fifteen. I don't like anything at eight-fifteen.

I have such a desire to frolic. There is no convenient place to frolic here. It is most sad.