Kids these days

Someone moved into the complex with a wildly-screaming sprog. This is not doing anything for my already shaky ability to concentrate. It starts about six in the morning and continues to happen randomly throughout the day, as the kid protests some one thing or another.

My neighbor with whom we share a wall has three kids, one of whom apparently likes to bang on the wall. I rearranged my furniture so they aren’t banging directly over my head at night, which is when it gets bad.

Kids. Hmph. I’m not likely to see any of them in my family - adopted nephew is already a teenager, and it’s not looking like sis in law is slowing down any time soon. She’s working her way through to be a nurse. I’m certainly not going to have any, as in a few months I will have hit the magic threshold beyond which having kids only increases the odds of all manner of defect, and I’m not a gambler. Nor am I sufficiently paired with any entity who will assist me in raising one. Roommate offered to buy me a bookcase for a graduation present, but that’s not in the same league with 18 years of nurturing and lunch money and clothes and college fund building.

I will probably continue to work with them, however, which is fine with me. I’m told I’m pretty good with kids. To which I think, yeah, I know when they’re going home. I can work with anyone as long as I know when they’re going home. Even Evil Bosses. Who, in retrospect, are a whole lot like kids - impulsive, demanding, loud…. No wonder I’m good with kids.