new neighbor

I live in a four-plex apartment building. For the last eight months, one of the apartments has remained vacant. Returning from today’s afternoon walk, I found a woman in her late 40s standing outside the building. We greeted one another as I scurried past her into the building. Minutes ago, a commotion was heard from the lower level. I heard the voice of my landlord. I lay down on the floor, listening from below the door. He was speaking to the woman, and her daughter who has, today, moved into the vacant apartment. They were discussing something about her garage door opener. Suddenly, my doorbell rang. Footsteps ascended the stairwell. A knock reverberated through the door above me. It was my landlord. I held my breath.

When I moved in, the landlord spoke about the previous tenant of my apartment having switched garage spaces and door openers with the prior tenant of the, until now, vacant apartment. After having moved in, my landlord left me a message asking me to switch garage door openers with the vacant apartment. He stated his wish to have the tenants on the eastern side of the building share the eastern garage, and the western side tenants share the western side of the garage. He told me where the key was, and to go into the empty apartment and swap openers. I did. I then tried to park my vehicle in the other garage, alongside another vehicle. Two things happened when I attempted to do this: (1) my vehicle’s antenna caught the edge of the opened garage door; and, (2) I was unable to maneuver my vehicle alongside the other car in the garage without first getting out and folding my sideview mirrors in. Even having inched my vehicle in with both mirrors folded in, I was unable to open the driver’s side door to exit the vehicle. So, I backed out—catching my antenna again—and promptly re-swapped garage door openers. It was the last that I had thought about it. I should have called and notified the landlord of what had happened. It just seemed like such a hassle to do so, and it still does. I am continually having to explain myself and mitigating circumstances to others, and I am sick of it. Where I have continued to park, in the second garage, is shared with another neighbor who parks only his motorcycle on his side, which allows my vehicle to fit neatly.

I am wracked with anxiety now. I do not want to deal with this. I do not want to change parking spaces. I do not want to have a new neighbor. I have a hard enough time avoidantly creeping about the common areas undetected. Doing laundry, checking mail, and even day-to-day comings and goings are a chore for me. I do not know my neighbors. I envy them painfully in every observation of evidence that they exist. One is a lawyer, the other a blue collar worker of some type. Both have money, relationships, friends, dinner parties, and women in their life. And, now, a woman has joined us; Two successful young men, and the schizoid shut-in on the top floor. Still, somehow this brings with it a dastardly speck of hope that I might develop some type of interpersonal comfort in interacting with the new neighbor; Yet, the anxiety this brings is overwhelming. I dated a neighbor once. Once. Our proximity eventually became a problem. Irrespective of this narcissistic fantasy, I feel ashamed of my living space. While generally clean and tidy, it smacks of a juvenile and transient instability incongruent with my chronological age and stated occupation. I would be mortified to have it fall under a woman’s purview.

I have plugged in a pair of headphones to the television, so as not to give indication that I am home. I already had a run-in on the street with an old acquaintance from The Cult, which left me reeling in intrapsychic conflict. Now I am sneaking around in my own home, which does not seem appropriate. I cannot bare to deal with this today. I want to cower beneath a blanket on the couch.