I wrote this during my lunch hour…and then the mood shifted during yoga.  Hence, two completely different posts tonight:

The weekend flew by in a blur of nothing special.  I was definitely thrown off by the Relay for Life all-nighter, which caused me to drag through Saturday, fall exhausted into bed early Saturday night, and begin Sunday morning way too late and lazily, unable to rouse myself from my purring cat and cozy bed.  I had brought home a ton of work, but the fogginess in my brain left me staring out the window most of the time, wishing I could divest the work guilt so I could go out and play in the sunshine.

I did manage to weed, rake and generally spruce up my front patio, which had fallen prey to a thick, suffocating blanket of Norfolk Pine needles and six months of yoga teacher training neglect.  And I hosted my children’s friends – at one point five simultaneously – two of whom spent the night.  Plus I ferried Girlfriend – a/k/a Miss Social Butterfly – around to various friends’ houses.

I wigged out unexpectedly when I picked up Girlfriend from her final get together of the weekend.  She hopped into the car happily, immediately flipping the radio to her favorite Top 40 station without asking, as she and her brothers always do.

I usually don’t mind.  But suddenly I couldn’t stand the hammering and insistently pounding beat, the banality of the lyrics, the juvenile electronic repetitiveness: Ooh, baby baby.  Ba-ba-ba-baby.  Ooh, baby baby.  Nahnah-nah-nahnahnah-nah. Repeat endlessly.  Argh!

I snapped off the radio, irritated, much to Girlfriend’s dismay.

I had slipped into noise overload.

I later realized that my life is so filled with others’ noises that I have increasingly forsaken my own.  My once-cherished alone time in the car – when I played my operas or sang along with my favorite artists – has disappeared.  Lately, whenever I’m driving solo, silence reigns; I absolutely need the space and quiet to clear my head, to sit with my thoughts (oh yeah, and to concentrate on the road).  My house, too, remains silent whenever the children aren’t with me.

I’ve also become increasingly impatient when the phone rings: I don’t want to fill the air with chatter.  I’m turning selfish, hoarding my precious quiet moments, not wanting to share (what seems to be) my fleeting silences.

Now I’m worried that I’m developing into a bit of a hermit, that the quiet times I once cherished in measured amounts are feeling progressively more necessary.  I can’t decide if my tolerance level has decreased, my general day-to-day noise levels have increased, or a little of both.  But I’m afraid I could be headed down the dreaded path of crotchety old geezerdom, and I surely don’t want that.

I made a point of turning on the music today on my way to work.  It was, surprisingly, fun.  I connected back to my favorite sounds; as always, they worked their magic, lifting my spirits, bringing me joy.  I sang along, loudly, proudly and really, really badly, once again contributing gleefully to noise pollution, shoving crotchety old geezerdom to the side for at least one more day.

Ooh, baby baby can eat my (singing) dust.  So there.  Nah nah.