We made it to Montana.
I have spent the last five years living just off Beverly, which is a major street in Los Angeles. For those five years there was not a minute traffic did not pass by my window, and on several occasions a midnight ride by an obnoxious motorcyclist would jolt me from my bed in fear. To drown the sound out I ran two fans in the room.
Right now all I can hear is a fly buzzing around and the ringing from my decompressing ear drums.
Even growing up in North Carolina I could always hear birds chirping and crickets and frogs and dogs barking in the distance. This is without a doubt the quietest place I have ever been. The nearest neighbors are almost a mile away and there is no wildlife to speak of in the land immediately around us. I'm annoyed by the loudness of these goddamn keys clacking on this keyboard. Shut up, keys.
I want to use the peace to do some writing. Everybody else is helping with house renovations so I should probably help do something like paint drywall or whatever. I don't want to, though. I just want to sit here and listen to the quiet. I've never heard anything like it.
I find it hard to write in complete isolation. Which is why those 'writer's retreats' never work for me. I spend most of my time trying to find stolen internet to watch Hulu.
ReplyDeleteWelcome to my hell, granted I hear birds and dogs once in a while, but it doesn't lessen the pain of being more than an hour away from a decent bookstore and all the MILFs at the mall.
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