Reality Estate

My name is Peta, I live on the second floor.

I live at Camel Toe Tear Arse, more commonly referred to as Camelot Terrace. Yes, a standard 1970s brick apartment named after a 15th century castle. To this date no one has mistaken it for the real Camelot. Though, this does not deter me from drinking wine out of a goblet. Like, for real.

So, I live in an apartment. I'd like to feel a little more apart from the apartment block, although I'm not sure I'm meant to. Instead I am a part of it. The fact that I constantly hear the conjoined residents makes me a part of it. Yes, every utterance, every movement, every shit 90s song, every thing. You get used to it. I mean, they must be able to hear me too, right? Occasionally I pretend I am in cell block H, dragging my tin cup along the window bars whilst howling at the moon. Of course in the daytime I preoccupy myself with out-of-tune banjo twanging and shooting my saliva at a rusted spittoon. Swish! Nothin but tin! Yep, that's apartment living. You won't find that in the real estate guide.

So here is a snapshot of an evening in Camel Toe Tear Arse. As soon as I have rammed a boulder into number 18's mouth, I head to bed. It's just a little ritual I have to shut up her resounding nasal tone and constant swearing at her spouse. I usually remove the boulder in the morning. First things first.

12.35am; a domestic wafts through the air. She wants a divorce, he's angry. I don't care. Not sure what number. It's definitely not 18. Boulder.
2.14am; loudest, most violent vomiting session I have ever heard. They turn on taps to drown it out. Unsuccessful.
4.24am; Number 7 still think it's schoolies week. Dicks.
5.10am; Baby crying like a starter motor.
6.47am; swarm of cyclists yelling boring work conversations.
7.08am; Dammit, it's leaf blower Wednesday.
7.13am; I'm leaving the boulder in number 18's mouth.

By this time I end up dragging my body out of bed and going for a walk. I'm up so I might as well. When I say 'up', I don't mean mentally or even physically. There's usually a grey area you encounter when you've woken up and you haven't quite re-entered your body after dream o'clock. I have my own zombie walk going on until I realise that the long, dangly things on my sides are actually my arms, and I can operate them. I am the body corporate.