Noise

nantucket porch (Diana F+, Kodak 400VC-3 film)

Fuzzy. Static. Noise.

The loudest things in my suburban neighborhood are the riding lawn mowers and the teenage neighbor boy's souped-up car stereo with the bass that shakes my living room wall and builds the pressure in my ears. These things feel loud, but it is quiet here in the house. 

Quiet enough for the noise inside my head to be loud.

It's the type of modern noise we all have: Catalogues in the mail. Bills paid and missed. Stacks of magazines. Stacks and stacks and stacks of books. Tabs and tabs and tabs of websites. So much to read-read-read. Check the email. Follow a link. Pick up a book. So much dust, dust, dust. Someone should do laundry, make dinner, wash the dishes. Someone should brush the cats, turn the dehumidifier back on, run the vacuum. Have you seen the weeds out front? Where you weeded a few weeks ago? Nature never stops. These farmers' market flowers on the desk are so pretty. These damn flowers are dropping yellow pollen all over my desk. Check the email. Follow a link. Another link. Another link. What was I doing, again? There's a to-do list of things to do, things to read, things to write. Shove stuff into corners, make more piles, hope you finally get to the post office, the Goodwill, the library. So much pet hair and dust -- and we wonder why our sinuses are a mess.

I can hear the attic fan vibrate the windows in my studio.

I've been avoiding writing for days.

I scan and edit photos, saying I'm waiting for the words to return.

I have nowhere to store these photo negatives. Must remember to add that to the list of the stuff I need to buy. We're out of hand soap, paper towels, napkins. We ran out of table salt, but we still have Kosher. At least we're stocked on toilet paper. Shit. Where did I put that shopping list?

I cleared off the studio floor today. I found a lot of fuzz-balls in the corners where I shoved all of the stuff that used to be in the center of the studio floor. This is a temporary fix, I tell myself. (It's always a temporary fix with you, my meaner side reminds myself.)

Last week I sat on a beach, far away from my stuff and my dust. And still I schlepped two bags down to the sand with me, one I call a purse and another for the cameras. I took my noisy clutter with me to the beach. I took my dust there too, sloughing off tiny pieces of me in the salty wind.

I need to go back to the beach. I'd downsize this time, leave my clutter at home (or at least back in the room). I'd sit next to the noise of the ocean until it drowned out all of the other noise.

And then maybe I'd have the clarity to fix this mess once and for all. With the sound of waves still in my head, maybe I wouldn't need to check my email, post an update, link to a link to a link to another link. Maybe I'd remember to clean before I could see the dust layered like salt on dark wood. Maybe I'd find freedom in giving away half of my stuff, instead of clutching it for security in this lonely, quiet neighborhood.

Comments

[Sandra]

Maybe it's okay to have the clutter, dust, pet hair, and general craziness. We drive ourselves mad trying to make our lives replicate the photos in magazines. Those aren't real.

[liz elayne]

i know this chatter well.
some days i try to see it as a companion. pieces of my truth swimming along beside me.

[Steph]

Wow, this one hits close to home. It's nice to know I'm not alone in dealing with the piles and the lists and the tabs and tabs of websites. : )