Imaginary Conversation I Will Never Actually Have With My Downstairs Neighbor

Me (possibly taking out my trash): Hey, how's it going?
The Old Lady Downstairs: Oh hello! Wonderful weather we're having!
Me: Yes, it is.
The OLD: Sometimes when it gets warmer like this you need to take the trash out more often.
Me: Yes, I believe you're right. You know, I've been thinking. Sometimes I play my violin, or even just my stereo, and I think too myself, 'Wow, I hope this music isn't bothering anyone else. I would hate it if I found out I was in anyway irritating those who lived around me.' I think that. You know what I mean?
The OLD: Oh don't worry, I love when you play the violin. You play beautifully.
Me (perhaps blushing a little bit): Oh well, thank you.
The OLD: And don't worry, I don't think I've ever heard your stereo.
Me: Well, good. That's a load off of my mind. (Frustrated, I start to walk to the dumpster, but stop and turn back.) Can I ask you something ma'am?
The OLD: Well I don't see why not. (Smiles toothily.)
Me: Who is Rusty?
The OLD: Rusty? Rusty is one of my cats.
Me: That's kind of what I thought. I know you have a few cats.
The OLD: Well they aren't all mine. A few of them are strays.
Me: But you feed them all, and you love them, I can tell.
The OLD: Oh yes. (Smiles again, extra toothily.)
Me: Perhaps you don't get out much, don't know many people, and these cats fill some of that void for you.
The OLD: I guess you could say that.
Me: Can I ask, why is it that at 6 or 7 am every morning you come out your door and yell at the top of your lungs, "RUUUUSTY! RUUUUSSSSTY!!" What is that?
The OLD: Well, I wake up around 5:30 every morning, and I like to make some coffee, and then have breakfast with my kittees. I pour a bowl of Honey Nut Cheerios, and I put dry food out for the cats. And a lot of times Rusty is off chasing a squirrel, or birdy, or maybe hiding in a sewer grate, so I have to yell RUUUUUSSTY! so he can know it's breakfast time.
Me: And why do you yell to him again at around 11:30 pm every night?
The OLD (beams): Well, I like to hug him goodnight before I go to bed.
Me: Okay. Well awesome, you've answered all my questions now. I guess I'll take my trash out. Thanks.
(I head to the dumpster, smiling awkwardly at the neighbor when I come back. Even in a fantasy like this I don't seem able to tell a nice old lady to be more considerate and to please refrain from yelling to her cat early in the morning. )

Up at 4

I awoke at a little before 4 o'clock this morning to the sounds of a woman's pained screams and the sounds of a struggle. It dawned on me that I had to be listening to a rape, and that it must be going on in the alley below my window. Horrified, I went to the window to investigate, phone in hand and ready to call the police. Several months ago I had heard gunshots outside in the early morning, but this was much much worse. My heart raced as I looked for the woman struggling to fend off her attacker, but I saw nothing. Within moments the sounds grew muffled, and I began to think they were moving away from me. I debated whether I should call the police. Should I go outside to help her? But why would they be moving away from me?
The grunting and slapping returned to full volume as I headed back across the room to my bed, and I realized then, to my relief and disgust, that what I was hearing were the sounds of my next-door neighbor having sex. Irritated and still not entirely awake, I got a glass of water and turned on the television. The grunting and hollering continued into the wee small hours, and I tossed and turned, wondering what I'll do if this becomes a recurring problem.

Learning and Growing Together in the Trust Circle

I'm in school so that I can become a teacher, and so, as one might expect, I am taking education classes. So far I don't like education classes, possibly because over the years I have become accustomed to learning things from the classes that I take. Education classes, ironically enough, don't involve much learning. What they do involve is a lot of jargon dressing up common sense to make it look less familiar, ten question surveys about your individual "learning style" (I'm aural/reading and writing!), in-depth class discussion about alcohol killing brain cells, earnest requests for feedback on assignments which nobody seems to care if you turn in, sweet but frustratingly vague and disorganized professors who refuse to give guidelines on length for papers, completely open-ended paper topics apparently designed to prevent anyone from scoring less than a ninety, and classrooms full of slow-witted girls in their early twenties who nevertheless manage to scores seventies on these papers.
Today in class we reviewed for a test that is coming up in a couple of days. The instructor tells us to always call them "tests" and not "exams." Apparently the word "exam" stresses people out.
One of my learning-buddies ("classmates" seems too austere for an education class, too close to the world of "exams") raised her hand to ask the question,
"What about that movie about the girl, is that gonna be on the test?"
"No," said my knowledge-sherpa, "you don't need to worry about the film. I would never put a film we watched in class on a test. I wouldn't want to penalize anyone who didn't come to class the day I showed it."
I stared in disbelief. I think two guys in the back of the room high-fived.

Routine

Today on the playground I spotted a seven-year-old girl whom I know well-- alone, crawling on all fours, and periodically gnashing her teeth.
"What animal are you today, Emily?" I called to her.
"A cougar," she answered.
"Great, don't get your knees too muddy," I called back.