"I know this sounds like the insane ramblings of a syphilitic brain. Do we go nuclear?"
Theoretically, there aren't many things that I hate. Orange juice with excessive pulp. Being forced to listen Americans speaking French for long periods of time. Apostrophe abuse.
Unfortunately, I think I'm finally to the point where I add my neighbor to that list. I'm Christian, and I'm pretty sure that one of the defining characteristics of being Christian involves *not* hating your neighbor, and yet, here I am, despising her anyway. We've talked about her before, and the smells, but... it's become awful. I've started leaving the window in the hallway open, which helps somewhat, but the smoke-and-sickly-sweet-perfume stank turns the entire floor into the Bog of Eternal Stench whenever she does something like open her door, or worse,
leave the door open for an extended period of time. Then, the resulting nausea is unbearable. And so I take a few moments to inhale the scent of the freshly washed wool and alpaca hat I just finished knitting for my dad, because apparently the detergent-y wet wool and alpaca fibers smell heavenly compared to her hellhole.
What I really don't get is how on earth she can live in a space that is beyond foul. What I know is that I have got to figure out a better system than open windows, quilt-plugged drafts, and loathing from a distance.
