SILENCE!

Writer'sRock_240113 (800x684)I … can’t concentrate.

Everywhere I go there’s too much noise. A plethora of distractions. An abundance of chatter. Multiple—what? No, you may not make a pizza. We just finished dinner.

I need a space where no one is allowed. An opaque bubble unpoppable by anything apart from spurting blood, ravaging flames, or—I’m not sure. Ask Dad, but I think it’s your turn to feed the sheep.

 My space is not sacred to anyone but ME.

A propaganda cartoon of the arrest of Governor...

The act of writing does not come easily to me. In fact, it’s much like hiding under the bed and trying to gather dust bunnies. Suddenly, I’m holding my breath, desperately hoping not to be discovered by the serial killer who’s broken into the house and is hunting me down. If I don’t move, if I’m very still and shut my eyes to the scariness around me, I just may make it to the other side. If I let a squeak of surprise escape my lips at seeing the shoes of my killer slip through the door and bonk my head on the bed frame, he then drags me by my feet out from under the bed and poof–that’s the end of that.

Okay, let me try and explain. I am me. Under the bed is my dark, safe, quiet haven. It’s full of ideas in the form of gossamer, almost intangible substances. And the rest of the world’s occupants are the killers of my creativity. Bam! It’s over.

I don’t know how people do it–how to think through noise.

English: "Discussing the War in a Paris C...

I’ve had to alter my schedule this week and have been forced out of my dark cocoon. I’m set up in a coffee shop. I hate it.

First of all, I’m forced to buy something I don’t even want in order to justify taking up space and bandwidth. I could make five or six cups of tea at home for the price of one that I had to purchase here. And it’s not my kind. It’s not my anti-stress/full-of-zen/conquer-the-keyboard kind of tea.

Secondly, the chairs are horrible. Like sitting on rocks. I miss my chair. It swivels. It has padding. It’s got wheels. And I’ve changed my mind. These chairs should take lessons from rocks. They aspire to be as comfortable as rocks.

Next, I can’t even keep track of the number of conversations taking place around me—none of them interesting. I’ve eavesdropped on them all. Wendy is having another baby. Pranav doesn’t think this semester’s anatomy class is moving along fast enough. Jared is finally quitting his job because his boss, Alicia, keeps cornering him in the men’s bathroom demanding—shhh … wait … that one is interesting.

 Someone’s cell phone twinkles with silvery, sparkly twiddly bits every twenty-two seconds, which is what I’m guessing is the exact amount of time it takes two teenagers to text a conversation that involves words like:

Texting on a qwerty keypad phone

Texting on a qwerty keypad phone (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

‘Sup?

Dude

Heya, Bro

WUU2

Nothin ATM U?

i hate my life

Lol

JK

LMAO

OMG

T2UL

k

Riveting, right? WRONG.

It’s distracting.

But only for me, apparently. Everyone else is still able to focus on reading their emails, memorizing great swaths of soon-to-be tested-on material in their textbooks and most importantly, following Jared as he struggled to politely pull his tie out of the sharply filed, dragon lady red fingernailed fingers attached to the breathy and threatening Alicia.

The espresso machine hisses and sputters. The earphoned man next to me watches The Office on Netflix and laughs like he’s sitting in his boxers on his apartment couch. He even belches impressively and doesn’t take notice of the fact that three people around him recoil in disgust. Okay, it was just me, but I did it twice in case he didn’t see me the first time. It doesn’t matter. Steve Carell rules.Rock_solid_240113 (800x612)

I put my earbuds in. Should have done this a long time ago. I tune into Pandora—Native American flute music. But it’s too close. The flautist’s breath is right in my ear, making my hair flutter. The earbuds are massive, built for someone with an ear canal the size of an elephant. It’s painful. On top of everything else, every two minutes an announcer reminds me I’m too cheap to spring for the full paid version and maybe I should consider this for the sake of uninterrupted sanity.Zen_tea_240113 (800x566) (347x323)

I know what will save my mental health, and it ain’t forking out more moola. It’s just me. Back home. In my chair. With my tea. And no earbuds. And no one else.

Okay, except for Jared, but just until I find out if he finally gave in.

~Shelley

 Don’t forget to check out what was cookin’ in the Scullery (here) and what we all talked about down in the pub (here)!

*And another big thanks to Robin Gott for his perfectly accurate penned depictions of  how my words look in pictures. To see more of his humor, click here and here.

4 thoughts on “SILENCE!

  1. You’ve described perfectly how I feel about trying to work in a noisy environment! I need to have clear space to think and there are far too many distractions in a cafe (I’m too nosey as well which doesn’t help matters).
    I have tried wearing an iPod at work in a shared office but if I turn it up loud enough to drown out the office noise I can’t hear myself think because of the piano music blaring out!! Desert island maybe?

  2. Shelley,

    The coffee house sounds like a resort compared to my abode this morning. All three girls came back into the house after sledding on the fresh fallen snow this morning. Most of the time was spent getting them ready (dressed, and with all the fighting of whose gloves are whose), opening the door, falling down the stairs, back into the house to go the the bathroom (undressing, redressing)… demanding that they put their bicycles back into the garage as riding them on the snow isn’t safe. I know, that was one long run-on. Regardless, that was just between 6am and 8am.

    After coming back inside, Gus got into trouble from her mother due to the fact that she landscaped her bedroom wall with a permanent marker that her older sister snagged from school. After having her mother properly scold her (Soso) for “taking what does not belong to her,” the tears were shed by both and doors slammed. Olive (the youngest) broke into tears I believe just because the others were crying.

    Now, Shrek 2 is playing, blaring loud enough I believe because the girls feel that our neighbors also want to hear it.

    The only quiet spot I have is in the back woods in a pile of snow. Single digits or not, I’ll wrap myself up, make a cup of hot cocoa, build a fire in the pit and bring out a book. Upon further consideration, doing that will only entice the girls to join me demanding that we make S’mores. Hence goes the silence.

    Happy Sunday, 🙂

    Stoshu

    • I’m secretly laughing on this side of the screen, because you know what this is, right? Paybacks. You wreaked havoc with three older sisters, refusing us a moment’s peace, and as the world is trying to right itself, karma has fated you with three beautiful daughters who are giving you a taste of your own medicine. I love it.
      I hope you do too. 😉

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