Sleepless in Sydney

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My OCCD episode is long gone - I no longer enjoy the visual delights of a pristine abode. Domestic standards have dropped dramatically in response to the sharp surge in my sleep debt.

I don't remember when I last slept blissfully through the night - it's been a while.

I just cant seem to get the knack of sleeping through loud talking or shouting (or yelping for that matter).

Everyone in our household (except me) talks and/or shouts in their sleep (including the four-legged family member) On top of that, our lovely neighbor's two daughters have moved back home and they're very shouty.

All this shouting happens in relays; when one person is done another takes up the baton the next night. 

Mr Frenchie has been on back to back business trips so I've been single parenting - badly. Meanwhile  the rest of the team have upped-the-ante to make sure the nocturnal disruptions continue:

We had the three-night-incessant -ear-flapping episode that resulted in a vet visit, very expensive ear drops and further sleep deprivation for yours truly.

Several night wakings from She-Who-Worships-Pink-and-needs-to-do-poo at 2am. I've since installed a night-light in the bathroom but it doesn't make her any quieter going about her business. It takes pure talent to successfully use a toilet seat to emulate the sounds of a five-car-freeway pile-up.

Our neighbor's daughters are avid entertainers (on school nights) and they prefer their tiny back patio to their living room. This sits directly under our bedroom window. Since our gardens are only six meters wide so you can pretty much hear each others toilets flush, but 4am does seem to be the official shouting arguments with boyfriends hour.

Last night there was an electrical storm so the orange dog, locked out of our room so I could sleep, decided not to be thwarted by a mere bedroom closure and he banged, scratched and cried at the door - at 1am then again at 2:30.

So this week I've turned up to the school run late every time sporting a range of luggage under my eyes. Surprisingly I only once forgot Pinkster's school bag but three times I forgot where I'd parked and wandered aimlessly down streets I had not parked on looking for the car.  I probably should avoid driving, but I'm so low on energy I cant make the uphill walk to school. 

So here I sit writing, trying to lighten my mood but all I can contemplate as my early evening is punctuated with loud drunken guffaws, is how in my diminished mental state, I will likely react in the wee small hours of tomorrow as it hits shouting-at-boyfriends hour. Usually I crawl out of bed and flash the living room and deck lights on and off until they take the hint.  I might just get as creative as my Mum:

Years ago Mum got even with our rude neighbors and their 8-y-o Satan's child who'd told her to "p*ss-off" when she asked politely if they would turn down their music a bit.  It was legendary watching my tiny mum drag my brothers home-made electric guitar amplifier into the garden. Then she ran leads and cables inside to the stereo where she threw on one of Dad's worst recordings of bagpipe-marches.  She let-em have it for two more hours after they turned off their music.  Perfect score of 10 for both technical difficulty and creative merit.

There's a cab honking away out front which they've all just piled into. Great, looks like they're going out clubbing tonight..

This does not bode well;  might check iTunes before I hit the sack and see what they have in the way of  bagpipes... 

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