It is loud, this wide world.
It is loud, watching the cars, the busy intersections where I now catch my buses.
The cars crowding themselves, like another form of sub-species, lives of their own, different sounds from each. Listen to the big trucks coughing up their lungs. Sputtering as the fit slows down. Don't they sound like the chainsmoker?
Hell, last night, even my kid said people are just not quiet anymore.
And then there are the people at my new Everyday.
2, 000 less people than the town I grew-up in, if you can believe that.
Thousands of sounds circling the never-ending building on a not-so-big lot of land.
To be sure, it has it's moments.
But it does not matter where you are or where you go.
There is always sound.
Except for at my house.
For the first 10 minutes of my day, I get to control sound.
O.K. Usually. Almost. Mostly.
Because my children seldom slip-up. They even encourage each other quietly to be quiet, if the need arises.
They smile encouragingly at me when I look their way.
Both of my kids are nasty buggers first thing in the morning, too.
But all in all, that is pretty much the only quiet I need all day.
Because I can tune out 100 cars. 13, 000 people. The whiniest of voices.
I have mastered the art of ignore. I can create quiet for myself.
But that is not as good as it all sounds, people.
It is often the reason I am THAT girl.
Quietness. Hmm.
I will blame everything on that instead of my hair.
Great. That sounds so much more grown-up.
And not even fun.
I mean how can one make a conversation about quiet interesting?
So much for that theory.
Next!
It is loud, watching the cars, the busy intersections where I now catch my buses.
The cars crowding themselves, like another form of sub-species, lives of their own, different sounds from each. Listen to the big trucks coughing up their lungs. Sputtering as the fit slows down. Don't they sound like the chainsmoker?
Hell, last night, even my kid said people are just not quiet anymore.
And then there are the people at my new Everyday.
2, 000 less people than the town I grew-up in, if you can believe that.
Thousands of sounds circling the never-ending building on a not-so-big lot of land.
To be sure, it has it's moments.
But it does not matter where you are or where you go.
There is always sound.
Except for at my house.
For the first 10 minutes of my day, I get to control sound.
O.K. Usually. Almost. Mostly.
Because my children seldom slip-up. They even encourage each other quietly to be quiet, if the need arises.
They smile encouragingly at me when I look their way.
Both of my kids are nasty buggers first thing in the morning, too.
But all in all, that is pretty much the only quiet I need all day.
Because I can tune out 100 cars. 13, 000 people. The whiniest of voices.
I have mastered the art of ignore. I can create quiet for myself.
But that is not as good as it all sounds, people.
It is often the reason I am THAT girl.
Quietness. Hmm.
I will blame everything on that instead of my hair.
Great. That sounds so much more grown-up.
And not even fun.
I mean how can one make a conversation about quiet interesting?
So much for that theory.
Next!
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