Every morning, before I wake up, my roommate takes his two dogs for a walk. I admit, I’m the last one up in the house, every day. I like my sleep. And every morning they return to the house, he unlocks the door, keeps them in a “sit” for a few seconds, then says “OKAY!!” and they race down the hallway on the hardwood floors outside of my room, nails clattering, tags ringing against each other. Every morning.
Then, every evening, I return home after a noisy, chaotic day at the shelter, and he’s watching old “Golden Girls” reruns on the television in the living room, which is separated from my room by a set of pocket doors with a gap of three inches between the floor and the doors. “BLANCHE!!!” The television is also connected to the stereo system, and every evening, at 5:15, the stereo comes alive on its own accord, blasting the sound of whatever channel was left on. Tonight it was “TRY THE FRESH NEW TASTE OF TACO BELL’s MEAT AND POTATOS BURRITO, WRAPPED IN A TWO LAYERS OF TORTILLAS AND GARNISHED WITH MOUTH WATERING VELVEETA CHEESE SAUCE>!!! GET YOURS-“(click) Believe me, I’ve tried to turn the alarm off; I’ve pressed every single frickin button on the unit and the remote; I’ve held down buttons for five seconds; I’ve tried various combinations of buttons, nothing works.
My eye is twitching.
This weekend, after my joint birthday party with One Half of the Studly Couple tomorrow night, the Studly Couple is flying to Hawaii and I get a week of bliss, house and dog-sitting for them in the ‘stro. With a car. I cannot wait. I am so excited. Quiet is becoming, like, a fetish for me. I fantasize about it, I obsess and I manipulate situations so that Quiet is invited, I sweet-talk Quiet until it submits and takes off its clothes and covers me, soft and warm, like a blanket.