Rarely have I been this grateful for the quiet and silence my apartment can offer. The landlord and Joe the handyman have just left, bringing with them the industrial vacuum cleaner, pressure gun and compressor that have been making deafening noise all day. This was part 2 in the process of changing the windows, which was started in mid-December. Now all that’s left for my landlord to do is paint the newly installed ledges. That should be interesting given the cat’s propensity to sit on said ledges. Hopefully they’ll be turned off the scent of wet latex enough to avoid getting their bums covered in paint.

Somehow I managed to sleep through most of the noise for the better part of the day, and I’m pretty sure it had something to do with the indian food I ordered in last night. My mom used to make delicious homemade indian food when I was growing up and it became one of my favourite comfort foods. That’s until a few years ago, when I started noticing that indian food brought about sleepless nights. Last night I had a huge craving and ordered from one of my favourite spots called Curry House (which incidentally, was one of Pierre Elliott Trudeau’s favourites too, for what it’s worth). I threw caution to the wind and ordered way too much, figuring I’d have plenty of yummy leftovers. I was especially vigilant, ate early and served myself reasonable portions, no seconds, to ensure I didn’t get bloated. But then sure enough, all night long I was twisting and turning and having one unpleasant dream after another. How could my favourite comfort food cause so much discomfort??

After that harrowing night, I was too tired to go to the Crafts workshop I’m supposed to attend on Tuesdays. I’m not so keen on going to begin with, largely because it’s specifically geared to people who have mental health issues and I’ve been seriously turned off by some of the more desperate cases who are regular attendants. One lady speaks with a freakishly high voice—as if she was constantly inhaling helium—and she talks loudly and incessantly throughout the many mandatory breaks. Apparently she’s been a regular there for over 20 years. Others just float around aimlessly, the spark in their eyes gone long ago. Last time I was there, I was playing a video game during a break when one of the… slower ladies from my group started raving on and on about how lucky I was to have a mobile phone “isn’t that just amazing?? You can make phone calls from anywhere, anytime you like…”. That seriously freaked me out for some reason; Canada isn’t exactly a third world country and technology is readily available andaffordable. Rarely before have I wished I was a smoker, just so I’d have a reason to go stand outside in the freezing cold to get peace and quiet. I spoke to the social worker that day and she told me that more than 30% of participants are considered highly functioning like myself, that I just need to give myself time to adjust. It’ll take a while before I meet any of the more ‘normal’ people; those aren’t the ones you notice, and besides they probably have other places to go than the depressing lunch room that is available on site.

In any case, I didn’t go today and stayed in bed instead. Somehow when Joe the handyman showed up and started working, I managed to sleep through the noise, while my terrified cats huddled up to me under the covers. Not sure how I managed that, but I guess I can sleep through anything if I’m tired enough. When I eventually got up and around, the noise seemed louder still and quickly became intolerable. I was trying to calm the cats down and then the nail gun would start going and they’d leap out of my arms with their claws out, tearing at my flesh as they launched themselves off me. Now I’m enjoying my quiet time, feeling incredibly privileged that I’m reasonably self-sufficient and that I can even afford to have my own place and don’t have to live in a home with other desperate mental cases…

I just wish I knew what to do with all the food that’s left. Can’t exactly invite somebody over to share leftovers, giving it to the cats isn’t an option, and I hate to waste all that good food, so I guess I’ll just have to eat it and endure a couple more sleepless nights. Or I could have it for breakfast instead of dinner. Not all that appealing either way. Maybe if I drink heavily after the meal it’ll just knock me out for the night? Hmm. Not too smart. I think I need to reset my priorities here, but where do I start?