Want a beer?

My morning has been...interesting.

For some preface, the apartment building I live in is small with paper-thin walls. Out immediate next door neighbors are a boyfriend (big, scary, bouncer), his girlfriend (pretty hot but also vapid), and her little girl. For the past year, Cody and I have spent hours listening to them fight, fuck, and fight some more. It consists of the guy accusing the woman of cheating, a few things hitting the walls, the little girl screaming tears, the guy yelling at the little girl to shut up, the woman telling them both that they're 'fucking retarded', and then a few hours later, they have really loud sex.
Also, they're incapable of understanding how switching a breaker works. Because they cut off the electricity in both our apartments, and I have to turn it back on. Like 3 times a day.

So. The electricity went off again today. I threw on a sweatshirt and walked out the door, instinctively locking my front door behind me. Without keys or a cell phone. I promptly began to panic. I tried to pry open all our windows, kick the door in, everything. With no avail. Suddenly, the woman from next door and her little girl came out of their apartment to do laundry in the basement.
"Would you guys happen to have keys to my apartment? I stupidly locked myself out." I whimpered. The woman smiled and said, "Let me get my boyfriend. He jimmies locks all the time." She disappeared around the corner and the little girl immediately ran to me. She had beautiful long blonde hair, sweet eyes, and a too-trusting smile. She told me about Jasmine, Knobels (and the rollercoasters there that scared her 'brain and heart'). She was positively delightful, and it made me sad that she has to live in that environment. The boyfriend came around the corner and was unsuccessful with the first bum credit card he brought. "Hold on...this one sucks. Let me get another one."
As he jogged around the building, the little girl leaned in towards me and whispered in my ear, "He's mean. He yells at my mommy all the time. And he throws things and hits her. And he yells at me...he's so scary. He got a shotgun and he shot Hunter."
I didn't have time to react before he came around the corner again. "What are whispering about?!" He demanded. "Oh, she was just telling me about Jasmine." I offered and winked at her. She giggled.
He pushed the door open, and I was relieved. "Thank you, thank you, thank you! Oh my God. Can I get you a beer or something?" I said with a smile. He declined. He had to go down to the basement and show his girlfriend how to switch a breaker. I watched as the three of them disappeared into the darkened basement, and thought how sad it is that something as beautiful as that little girl has to live in such sadness; such filth.

In other news, my disturbing dreams have returned. Only this time, they've all been about my parents. More specifically, me and one parent fighting like no two people have ever fought before, which always results in death. Two nights ago, it was about arguing with the heat of a thousand suns with my father, calling him an ungrateful fuck and the like. I left to cool off and when I returned home with my mom, we found that he had committed suicide to get back at me.
Last night, I dreamt that I had a nice weekend with my dad. When we got home and I told mom about it, she freaked out. 'But it wasn't more fun that our trip to NYC. Dont forget who took you to see Gaga! She's MY daughter, you DONT get to have fun with her." She carried on like that for a while. I finally cornered her, asking her what the fuck was wrong with her. Throughout the rest of the dream, she ripped me apart any chance she got, being spiteful and abusive. I converted to Judaism to spite her (my dreams are weird), and she tried to murder me with a menorah filled with blades rather than candles. At first I decided it would be easier to die, but then I fought back. And then I woke up.
I have dreams about fighting with my mom almost every night. It takes me a while to realize that she isn't actually mad at me, and we're not the fighting type. Well, other than the times when she wants to lecture me about money and I end up trying to overdose on muscle relaxers or cut off my skin with scissors. Those aren't good times. But they are few and far between. I don't know what my brain is trying to tell me, but I'm damn sick of it.