Sleepless on Barrington

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Every night is an exercise in misery; every morning a struggle. Groggy and filled with loathing, I drag myself around the apartment in a haze, struggling to make my brain function, and dreading the ineffectualness that will follow as I attempt to get through another work day. I have the wonderful construction company to thank for this--the one that received an exemption from a municipal by-law governing after hours noise (someone in the city office truly had their empathy cap on the day that decision was handed down.) Each night, it's such a treat to see the boys rolling on down to my neighbourhood, with their flood lights, and generators, and concrete saws, and jack hammers. It's such a joy to lie awake as the area directly outside my windows is reduced to rubble until dawn. They regret the inconvenience, they say. They want to thank me for my co-operation. Go fuck yourself. You, and the city planners who have overseen this nonsense. Co-operation implies I was made aware of the situation, or had some say in it. You merely turned up on my door step and let the concrete fly. By the way--I read the notice granting your company that by law exemption. It explicitly states that it is contingent on residents being given a 48 hour notice before you destroyed all manner of our sanity. The letter that was shoved under my door (the day AFTER your crews started their over night shifts.) might not have been dated, but it sure as hell wasn't sent 48 hours prior to this shit show. Fuck you, and the jack hammers you rode in on. —Slowly Going Crazy

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