Currently listening to: Best of Miles Davis and John Coltrane

I knew I loved Jazz when I heard this. It was inspirational. The music forces your feet to tap along. Your shoulders kind of wiggle to the tune. Your head starts to swivel lightly to the beats. The music enflames a force that lives within -- it awakened my Jazz-loving soul inside. I have a very eclectic collection of music. Perhaps being trained in classical music from an early age has taught me to enjoy music of all kinds -- I strongly believe that classical music is the foundation and embraces all types of modern music.

My upstairs neighbor has fabulous taste in music. I applaud her choices -- blues, hip-hop, pop, jazz, classical, some trance -- her style is as eclectic as mine. I am glad that other people are enjoying music besides me. I really am glad. However, I cannot be totally, without a doubt happy, because of one little thing: her favorite musical hours are long after the witching hour. I often awake about 2-3 AM to hear Andrea Bocelli bellowing "Time to Say Goodbye." Sometimes when I lie awake, sometimes waiting for my mom, I hear the music. It would be past 2 AM, and the music would be so lively. I also hear her walking around the apartment in heels.

This musically hip lady used to be the manager for our apartment complex. When we moved in, she told us that this unit was great, because we didn't have next door neighbors. Our unit was at the very end, and next to it was the elevator, so we didn't have any neighbors adjacent to us. We had neighbors upstairs and downstairs, but that wouldn't be a problem at all, she told us. Soon after we moved in, her footsteps in what could only be stilettos were simply horrible, too horrible to bear. But how many times can you tell someone this? She is no longer the manager of the building, but she still lives above us. Even worse than playing music (loudly) in the middle of the night, is that she loves to play music also on Sunday mornings. Usually at about 9AM, when I am soaking in the sunrays of the morning as I delight myself in extra hours of sleep.

I love music. I have Frank Sinatra, Miles Davis, CD's of the American Idols, Britney Spears, Chopin, Tchaikovsky, Elvis Presley, and many more. But even the great Justin Timberlake cannot be allowed to bother me from my precious slumber -- some things in life are just too important. Maybe if I started screeching really loudly like a cat in heat every time she played music -- perhaps that might work. Doesn't this woman sleep? Maybe I should collect random roadkill and place them primly at her door with a nice letter of discouragement to play music loudly. I don't know. It's really hard for me to say negative things to people to their face. Maybe I'm a coward. But I gotta get sleep somehow.

Well, that was enough verbal spilling. Goodnight Mr. Davis. Goodnight Mr. Coltrane.