02 13 00

noise

Wow. I never took my slippers off today.

It was kind of nice, just staying inside. Outside it's cold and raining and dreary. I stayed in, drank hot chocolate and cleaned.

I realized that I needed to get my ass in gear and clean up some for Dave's impending visit. He always insists I don't have to do that, but I feel more comfortable when things are at least picked up a bit and I've run a vacuum over the carpet a few times.

I hate vacuuming. It's so noisy.

When I was living with my parents, I loved to vacuum. If I ever needed some time by myself I'd grab the vacuum cleaner and sweep the family room. But now I'm so conscious of my neighbors and the sounds I make, I just can't stand to vacuum that often.

Yeah, yeah... My neighbors sure don't seem to care if they make noise. The people behind me have sex in their bathroom on a regular basis. The guy catty-corner to me has a bass guitar and an amp... And he's not afraid to use it. The lady next to me has a nice loud stereo, lots of friends, and nocturnal habits.

So why am I afraid to make noise?

During the day it's not so bad. I play my stereo at regular volumes, run the garbage disposal, make something in the blender. But I only really feel comfortable doing that between the hours of 10am - 6pm. (Rather, round about those hours. I don't feel that "Oh no, it's 6pm... Gotta turn down the stereo." I just won't start any noisy things after about that time.)

And it's not like I'm tiptoeing around, either. I'm generally up until 2am (or later) on my computer, with the radio playing softly behind me. I'll brush my teeth and stomp around my bedroom and what all getting ready for bed.

But running machinery or loud music or talking loudly is Right Out.

I think it's the whole neighbor thing. When I'm at someone's house at a late party, I feel no qualms about how loud the music is or why that guy is standing in the living room bellowing. But if the party is held at someone's apartment, suddenly I'm very conscious about how much noise we're making.

Just knowing that someone on the other side of the wall could be listening freaks me out. That they could listen for a minute and figure out exactly what I'm doing, even without seeing me - it gives me the jeepers.

And I'm not sure why my subconscious differentiates between different noisy activities, or why machinery-related sound is "worse" than, say, stepping on that creaky board in the bathroom twelve times while brushing my teeth.

But anyway, vacuuming isn't fun anymore.

I swept up the wads of cat hair on the steps, under the couch, beneath the wicker table, and from around the chair legs. I found more cat hair stuffed under the magazine rack, wadded into the crack between the fridge and the wall, and crammed into various nooks and crannies.

You know, my apartment would be a lot cleaner if I didn't have a cat.

Come here, Jaws. You're going to learn how to vacuum. Just don't do it after 6pm.

Cat Tales

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