amateur choir

Dear Amateur Choir,

This is a confession.

I know. Here, Halloween is a free for all. On November 1st, All Saints’ Day, you’re meant to lay flowers and prayers at the feet of those who have passed. Had you no relatives to honor?

At 11PM, a zombie on the metro asked me where I was going. Home, I said, and into my bed. I’ve been on my feet for fourteen hours and I feel like I’m dead.

Nighttime is a ritual and my sleep precious, Amateur Choir. I’m an adult now, I guess. Who are you? I, like you, like to sing. I love Madonna, too, and even have a few GaGa dance routines. I get it. Early youth is a stupid, wonderful time. Those people you met six whiskeys in really do feel like they might be your best friends. It’s all so new and, oh my god, they’re down to take Jager shots too!?

But I have to tell you, Amateur Choir, I have to tell you that 5 AM is just not the appropriate time for a Lady Marmalade singalong. I try to be fair, you know. I suspect I’ve woken you up myself once or twice. I know for sure that I stopped the party that night I slammed the bathroom door and screamed “fucking assholes,” still half-asleep and full of rage. It was a Tuesday, after all. So I let you carry on on Halloween, Amateur Choir, because it was a holiday. I sacrificed my sanity for your fun. Did you hear me? I spoke out loud a few times: Please stop, you insufferable cokeheads. Go to sleeeeppp. I tried to drown you out with the “Chillout” playlist on Spotify, but Sam Beam singing “Time After Time” into my ears just made me feel like sticking my head into a pot of sardines.

I guess you finally passed out around 7:00. The last song I heard was “Oh Happy Day,” for the second time. Props to you, Amateur Choir, for living up to your name.

The confession: it was me, at 9 AM, holding my phone up to the wall, playing M Clan’s “Hasta la vista Rock ‘n’ Roll” and then “Bodak Yellow” and then “Daddy I’m Fine” (variety is the spice of life). I heard banging and imagined you all rolling hungover out of bed into a massive pile of pipa shells. And yes, Amateur Choir, I felt good about it. I danced along to the music with my middle finger in the air and a smile on my face that felt delicious. I felt truly vindictive. Who knew?

Thank you for showing me a side of myself I didn’t know I had.

Love,

The woman on the other side of the wall

Advertisements