Fighting on the stairs

The facts:
1. I sold my flat back at the end of March.
2. I am going to sign the purchase of my new flat at the end of May.

Logical conclusion: I had to find a place to live for the two months when I'd officially be with "no fixed abode" (that's what I am according to the city register right now, it's certified homelessness).
The best solution to the problem turned out to the the simplest and closest to home. I moved one floor above, renting out my friend Pippo's flat.
Very quick move, just one floor up; it meant I could keep living in a place that was familiar to me and I didn't have to spend extra time looking for a place.

So I moved up and it felt I moved into a different world: no more quiet evening. It's a non-stop festival of people screaming, arguing and telling each other to f**k off.
The days I've worked from home, I also discovered that there are other neighbours fighting during the afternoon. Great, they take shifts.

Days passed, with me trying to make sense of this change: how can a set of stairs extra drop me into a whole different universe?
And then, one morning I woke up and found this on the stairs:

I tried to make a sense of the whole situation: fights, insults, a psycho as a neighbour.... mmmh no, let's make it a couple of psychos living on the 2 flats near me, and now somebody spooned soil out of a vase and left it on the stairs.

What's the meaning of it all? Is some superior powers trying to tell me something? Maybe to double check my door is locked at night?

I'm not sure, the only "logical" step I took was choosing a song fit to the situation and make it somehow better. And since all my musings somehow lead back to the Frames:

"I'm living out in the old house
And fighting on the stairs
And staring at the windows
Breeze blowing through the years"

Inside out

Well, what should I do with you, neglected blog of mine?
Pretty you up a little? Add some nice widget to your layout perhaps? Would that make you happy?

(Am I really talking to my blog?!?)

The problem is that I should be prepared: by now I should know that January and February are always tough months for me. There is something about the start of the new year, the gloomy winter, the lack of real changes in my life that, combined with my inclination towards depression, should make a philharmonic orchestra of alarm bells go off in my brain.
I should know that, between the end of January and beginning of February, I'm finding everything is just harder: waking up, getting up, going to work, working, coming back from work. It's like having to carry an extra weight with me the whole time, and I already have my never-budging overweight to carry around!
Sadness takes old of every single aspect of my life and it's very tiring. I should remember how bad this feels, year after year, yet January comes and I'm taken completely by surprise, as if the pain in the past didn't leave any warning or reminder.

One thing has changed this year though. I can't shield the external world from it. I got to the point of being so tired that I don't have the energy to pretend to be ok. If my face is not enough proof of it, my words will be.

The only thing that is probably saving me right now is that for good part of my working week, I barely talk with people. But people should really learn to not say anything more than "hello". After hello, I normally go for banal sentences, safe and neutral territory.

But lots of people around me are completely devoid of this basic notion and they have to go and ask me "How are you? What's that face?"
At that point my brain freezes for a split second.
In an "Inside Out"-like scenario, I can picture Sensible trying to input an answer that can be polite and believable at the same time. But just little bit behind her, here comes Brass pushing over Honesty with a bit too much of strength so that I unload on the poor person who asked the question a whole speech on the unfairness of life and universe.
Sensible shakes her head, while Brass looks, well, brassy.
In the meantime, Wonder wonders when Sarcasm got so sarcastic.
Everything is so messed up that even Wisdom goes ¯\_(ツ)_/¯