I know what you’re thinking: this is a post about my drinking a great big cup of STFU. There you’d be wrong. It’s a post about my drinking in a great big cup of STFU.
Prepositions matter, people.
The children are at camp. Hubby’s at work. The cats are (understandably) asleep.
It is quiet.
I don’t know how to describe just how quiet it is. I can hear the rain on the roof (sorry kids, you’re at camp and it’s raining… I get it, you’re likely bored and miserable… but you’ll be building character, I assure you). I can hear myself think. I can hear the cat snore.
I know what you’re thinking now: this is a post about either a) how much I love it or b) how much I hate it. There you’d be wrong. This is a post about just how much (wrong) noise is in my life and it’s distracting. How do we function? Why aren’t we all deaf?
Oh wait, we ARE all going deaf. Physically and metaphysically.
How can we think? Or have we forgotten. If I read the news, I know we’ve forgotten. Don’t even start me on “news” noise. Notice I didn’t write “fake news” because that’s a whole nother can o’ worms and I just don’t need that bull ship in my life. Jeez I’m cranky.
Let’s talk, instead, about The Grinch.
The Grinch. The noise. He hated the noise. Only part of his problem was that his heart was three times too small. The rest of it was the noise.
The Grinch’s was suffering from claustrophobia. That’s why he lived where he lived. It was quiet. Mostly. He had Max (his dog)—we know now—because he wanted companionship and, frankly, he loved Max (and Max, being a pure and gentle soul, was always there for the Grinch, knowing in his little doggy way that one day, his beloved Grinch would be won over by love).
But the noise, the closing-in, it made The Grinch mad.
He wasn’t filled with hate, he was filled with social anxiety. I know this theory is nothing new but as I sit in my VERY quiet house I see the point: the noise, the enclosure on one’s self, it gets to you and the less you have of you, the more you try to sequester yourself. But this doesn’t help, does it? You’re isolated and you fester. You become bitter and hateful.
Now I don’t want to take this metaphor too far. Analogy is a bad way to carry a thesis. But I see know why sometimes I just get in the car so I can park somewhere and sit. Ok, sometimes I cry because I had epic Mom or Wife Fails…. but mostly I just sit for FIVE FLUGGING MINUTES SERIOUSLY PEOPLE IS IT SO MUCH TO ASK FOR FIVE EVER-LOVING MINUTES?
There. Fine now. I miss my kids (people ask if I’m glad they’re gone and the answer is no, not really. I miss them. They’re asking if I’m glad I have the week to MYSELF with hubs at work and the kids away. Yes and no. I miss my hubs too. He was off last week and we had a blast. Instagram tells the tale:
But do I love this quiet? Heck yeah.
I’ll tell you one thing I’m loving. I can listen to MY music without voiceover. And as necessary, sing at the top of my lungs (I like MY noise). But it’s quiet, it’s raining, and last night I heard Águas de Março on Jazz FM and thought I would YouTube it today and just wallow, play the same bits over and over and over (I could have written “repeatedly” but I think over and over and over carries the better image). Listen to the dulcet voice of Elis Regina who had such a tragic end, at the tender age of 36. She sings like the proverbial angels. A veritable siren.
And I cannot remember the last time I managed to listen to ANY tune without interruption. Maybe this is why the Grinch was so Grinchy (but oh, maybe the shoes…. his shoes were too tight. I have osteoarthritis in my feet so I get it).
So enjoy this. In the quiet, if you have it. And if not, find some quiet today.
oh, and listen to Jazz FM 🙂