Noise Withdrawal


Silence is not golden. It’s boring. Yeah. Yeah. I said it. I like it every once in a while. For about three minutes or so during the day. And it’s alright at night when I’m trying to go to sleep. But the rest of the time, I like noise. Hustle. Bustle. Voices. Laughter. Even the screams, when everybody is not hurt. Just not the quiet. Especially when it’s too quiet. How am I supposed to get anything accomplished without noise? I should turn on some music. Or go eat lunch at a pizza joint. That should help.

Sometimes I guess I’m a bit of an avoider. Avoiding the laundry. Avoiding confrontation. Avoiding long lines. Anywhere. And today, I’m avoiding a quiet house. It’s weird because there are many times when all I want is a little peace and quiet. Wrapped in a giant, pretty easy-to-open box. I guess I don’t like to keep that gift for too long. Or else I feel alone. Just me and my thoughts. I would rather bounce my thoughts off of people, all over the place, outside of my head. I would like to return the quiet, and have the noise back. Maybe I’m a bit of a noise hoarder. I like to pile it up in the forms of conversations, lots of kids running around, loud music playing and my favorite, laughing.

I’m starting to recognize that I may occasionally suffer from the made-up symptoms associated with noise withdrawal. An extrovert’s nightmare. I love the sounds of people, especially the little people running around my house. So, strategically, I often avoid my house when there will be no little people there to distract me. Tug on me. Or ask me to be the “Robot Mother” or the infamous “Dog Monster.” I love the chaos and noise, especially when it’s absent. Gone. Silence is boring.

To delay my noise withdrawal symptoms, I do my best to find noise in other places. Coffee shops. Restaurants. Or sometimes, I do the opposite. I try to find quiet in places where quiet should hang out. The library. Shhhhhh! Be. Quiet. Even the quietness of biking or walking outside on a calm fall afternoon. Those places can be quiet all day long. My house should not be so quiet. So, I will do my best to avoid it for a few hours. Leave that strange, unfamiliar quiet place alone. Until the noise returns. With boys. Constant. Present. Alive. How odd that I can be so fickle. How strange that I love the loudness the most when it’s so silent. Too quiet.

I guess I’m a lover of loud. A little crazy. Or a lot. A little messy and chaotic. I suppose a noiseless house scares me a little. Makes me feel like something’s wrong. Like a lot of people are missing. I should stop sitting in the driveway. And go inside. Enjoy the quiet. For a few minutes or so. I probably should do some laundry. But I get bored just thinking about it. Afterall, being a self-diagnosed person affected by noise withdrawal symptoms, I know certain things. Like that the number one symptom of noise withdrawal is boredom. I will turn on some music. Ugh and fold some laundry. And I will look forward to the return of the little, yet loud voices that will soon fill this boring house with excitement again. And noise. Glorious noises.

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