Her Voice Carries to Rexburg. He Keeps Listening

What is this? The Sin Bin is The Valley Signal's advice column for people who don't deserve it. The sin bin is the penalty box, where you go when you've screwed up. You write in with the mess you've made of your life, or your neighbor's, and Sully tells you what you already know but you're too soft to admit. No soft problems. No participation trophies. No closure. Every story has a pylon, the useless person standing there while the play moves around them. If you can't spot yours, it's you. Keep it short or get benched, and send it to [email protected].

Dear Sully,

I broke up with my ex (again), and now she's hanging out with my upstairs neighbor. Whatever, water under the bridge, but she's got a voice that could carry to Rexburg if the wind were right. It feels like she's hanging out in my apartment sometimes, and my dog keeps getting all excited and confused.

What do I do- how do I get my dog to calm down, and what is your favorite brand of earplugs?

Single & Sonically Overwhelmed

Dear Sonically Overwhelmed,

Buddy.

You broke up with a woman, and somehow she got promoted to the apartment directly above you.

That's not a breakup. That's a change in elevation.

Most people end a relationship and hope to never hear from the other person again. You've apparently arranged for yours to be broadcast through the ceiling like an emergency alert system.

And the best part? You broke up again.

Again.

That's doing some heavy lifting here, kid.

You've already been through this relationship at least twice, and now you're sitting downstairs listening to the director's commentary.

Let's address the dog first.

Your dog doesn't understand breakups. Your dog understands three things: food, walks, and people who used to come over and smell interesting.

As far as he's concerned, his old friend is back, she's somewhere in the ceiling, and his idiot owner refuses to open the door.

He's not emotionally confused. He's conducting a perfectly reasonable investigation into why someone he recognizes has apparently moved into the attic.

You're the one who's confused.

You're asking me about earplugs when your ex is hanging out with the guy upstairs.

Now, I'm not saying there's anything going on between them. Maybe they're playing Scrabble. Maybe she's helping him organize his tax receipts. Maybe he's got a tremendous collection of decorative gourds.

Doesn't matter.

She's allowed to hang out upstairs. You're allowed to hate hearing about it. And your neighbor is allowed to have company, provided she's not violating the noise ordinance or communicating exclusively through a bullhorn.

But here's where things get interesting.

You describe this as "water under the bridge."

Pal, the water isn't under the bridge. It's coming through the ceiling, and you're standing underneath it holding a dog.

You know what people who are actually over their exes don't do?

They don't monitor the acoustic properties of their ex's social calendar.

And they definitely don't write to an advice columnist asking for earplug recommendations like they're preparing to sleep next to a runway at Logan.

Which brings us to the pylon.

I was tempted to give it to your ex. After all, she's apparently discovered the one location in Teton Valley where she can socialize while maintaining surround-sound access to her former boyfriend.

That's either an extraordinary coincidence or a level of petty engineering that deserves its own zoning application.

But I can't prove she's doing it deliberately.

What I can prove is that you're sitting downstairs letting the upstairs apartment dictate the emotional weather in yours.

Congratulations. You're the pylon.

Here's what you do.

First, stop treating every noise from upstairs like breaking news. You don't need to know who's visiting, what they're doing, or whether your ex has discovered a new octave.

Second, get the dog a decent walk, give him something to chew, and put on a fan or white-noise machine. When he hears her voice and stays calm, reward him. Eventually he'll figure out that the ceiling isn't going to produce a visitor, no matter how enthusiastically he investigates.

Third, if the noise is genuinely excessive, tell your neighbor. Not about your ex. Not about your romantic history. Just the noise.

"Hey, sound carries pretty badly through these floors. Mind keeping it down a little?"

That's it. No courtroom testimony. No relationship timeline. No diagrams.

And finally, the earplugs.

Mack's Ultra Soft Foam. Cheap, comfortable, and capable of reducing the volume of a lot of nonsense. Follow the fitting instructions, because stuffing foam halfway into your ears is about as effective as your previous breakup strategy.

But understand something.

Earplugs can block sound.

They cannot block curiosity.

And if you find yourself removing one at 10:30 p.m. because you think you heard her laugh, the problem isn't the ceiling.

It's you.

One last thing.

You said you broke up again. Which suggests there's a nonzero chance you'll get back together again.

If that happens, please do your dog a favor and make it permanent one way or the other.

The poor bastard has already been through enough.

Sully's Verdict: You can't control who goes upstairs. You can control whether you spend your evenings listening for footsteps like a divorced golden retriever. Put in the earplugs, walk the dog, and stop dating the ceiling.