My neighbor is having a screaming match. I think she's on the phone, because no one seems to be yelling back. She also has a pronounced Indian/Pakistani/something accent, so all I can really make out is "fuck you" and "no you listen to me." This isn't the first time. Last time someone else was there, because I heard the door slam twice. I'm actually not positive if its the neighbor directly above me or next door (or maybe across the hall), because the arguement is strangely more audible from my hallway and closet/office/pigsty. Regardless, while she's not keeping me up (its 12:30, and alas, I haven't finished my paper because I chose to have two phone conversations in the vicinity of an hour, which while fun, were not academically productive), I do feel bad. Not bad exactly. Sad. For her. I've been there, in that awful screaming neverending fight about nothing or everything where all at once you want to make it all "poof" disappear and you want to make things "like they used to be" and you want your insides that are lying somewhere in the gutter of your intestines rather than your chest cavity to return to normal. And I don't, ever, ever want to be in that place again.
Things like this, that remind me of things that were, remind me that I'm a little afraid of life. I'm a little afraid I won't get happily ever after and instead I'll get a mid-life divorce, and having been through a (obviously, see above) messy early life break up (of a fairly long term for early life relationship), I have NO IDEA how people deal with getting divorced from someone they've been with for 10, 15, 25 years. No idea. Maybe that's why there's such a market for therapists.