I started a Excel sheet called "Furniture Velocity Index" to track my upstairs neighbor's 2 a.m. couch migrations, and I've got seventeen data points proving he's operating on some kind of demonic schedule. Last Thursday at 2:03 a.m. he dragged what sounded like a sectional six inches to the left, stopped for exactly two minutes, then dragged it back—the whole thing lasted longer than a Netflix intro skip, which means he was *measuring*. The real nightmare is that I've become so attuned to his rhythm that I now wake up at 1:58 a.m. in a cold sweat, like my body is a smoke detector for his IKEA anxiety. Yesterday my therapist asked what keeps me up at night and I instinctively checked my phone: "Oh, just furniture rearrangement between the hours of 1:59 and 2:11 a.m., so nothing serious." She's now my *former* therapist, which I've added to the spreadsheet as a secondary variable.