The Vampire

I am so freakin’ tired today.  I have no idea how I’m going to stay awake through the endless rounds of meetings that are on my schedule.  I think it’s going to be a Red Bull kinda day.  Today, the bags under my eyes and the zzzzz’s emanating from behind the closed doors of my office are brought to you courtesy of the nocturnal habits of our upstairs neighbor. 

I’m not really sure what he’s doing up there but he keeps some very odd hours.  Vampire hours.  Without fail, between midnight and 5am it sounds as if he’s trying to gouge out a life-sized replica of the Grand Canyon by pushing the entire inventory of our local IKEA across the hardwood floor of his apartment.  At 5am he either crawls back into his coffin or he has finally decided that the chiffarobe actually does look better wedged between the mini-fridge and the sink and all is quiet until the next evening.  Lather.  Rinse.  Repeat. 

Being the nosey parker that I am, I once asked him what he does for a living.  I got some vague entrepreneur, actor, model, type answer.  I’m thinking that maybe he’s in the witness protection program or he’s a secret agent and he hasn’t fully worked out his cover story.  Now, I’m not a vindictive person but if he doesn’t STFU so that I can get some sleep I’m going to put his picture in a full page ad in the New York Times with the headline, “Here he is.  Please come get him.”