Everything my neighbors know about me as gleaned in the last 275 hours, A Sound Diary

• Leaves bathroom fan on unnecessarily
• Deduced by: Landlord who lives directly above
• Realization of just how thin walls are comes in form of a text from landlord the night I move in, asking me to turn bathroom fan off. Slightly unnerved by someone actively tracking my showering habits. Even more unnerved that there was no text after setting fire alarm off. Twice. Still learning appropriate protocol, but it seems burning in swath of flames is acceptable, however leaving bathroom fan running for additional twenty minutes elicits investigation.

• Enjoys doing laundry at, umm, 6am
• Deduced by: Man who lives in garage. He is in fact not my biggest fan
• In hindsight 6am was probably a little early. And I may have slightly overfilled the machine which rudely started violent rocking pattern which in turn greatly upset man who lives in garage. Have been informed I must do smaller loads, no earlier than 9am. I grudgingly admit this is a reasonable request. I’m not usually this shit of a tenant. Fleetingly wonder what happened, then decide it’s likely a byproduct of middle finger liberation.

• Is getting laid
• Deduced by: Turkish man in room next door. And, well, entire household. They’re thin walls
• Actively try very, very hard to have sex as discreetly as possible with an extremely quiet playlist, and lots of shushing. Great setup for library silent section role play, or my-walls-are-made-of-tissue-paper-and-my-landlord-lives-above-me role play, if that’s a thing. Ask Hinge Date if he likes a finger in his ass, says he doesn’t know but maybe better to try when he doesn’t have to worry about being so quiet. I attempt to be as subtle as possible when washing bed sheets the next day. However blanket flapping on laundry line feels like victory flag.

• Has difficulty reaching orgasm
• Deduced by: Man with cat who has now replaced Turkish man next door
• Information likely gathered from very loud phone conversation with cousin detailing “The Elusive Orgasm” — which is definitely not the name of a book I bought which may have been the sole catalyst for getting my own Amazon account. Self-diagnose inability to climax as either the result of excessive coming-of-age bathtub faucet use, or childhood sexual abuse. Add it to growing list in notes app of things to ask therapist. But as Hinge Date pointed out, I live next door to a grown man with a pet cat, so none of this actually really matters as he’s probably just going to murder me in my sleep anyways.

• Really likes doing laundry
• Deduced by: Landlord. Surprise surprise
• Trophy bed sheets get washed again the very next day due to onset of menstruation. Landlord tells me I do too much laundry. I reply that I’m trying to do smaller loads as requested. She informs me that anything above one load a week is excessive as how much laundry does one person really need to do? I come very close to mentioning heavy flow incident as it’s seen high success rates in the past (mostly with male P.E. teachers). But I remind myself this isn’t high school gym class, and I need to live below her for the remainder of the month, so I retreat back into my studio and give thanks that there’s only 28 days in February.

• Is shit at baking
• Deduced by: Landlord, mostly
• Conflict is very uncomfortable for me, so I try to practice being bigger person. Key word: try. Make brownies for Valentine’s Day but slightly burn first batch. Besides a light charring, they aren’t that bad. But seeing as I’d very much like to get laid in the near future, they aren’t quite Hinge Date quality either. So I bake brownies: the sequel, and consider my options for the first batch. Eating them seems like a waste of calories, but having just moved I don’t know too many people who it would be appropriate to give baked goods on Valentine’s Day. In conclusion I may have wrapped them up and given them to landlord and co. as peace offering. Not trying to get laid by landlord, so don’t mind if she thinks I’m a shit baker. Am fully resolved that I’m going to hell, so I might as well get used to the taste of singed confections.

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