I love him, I do. And I’m not just saying that.
My husband is the light of my life, the beacon that guides me to safe waters and the rock that grounds me. He is my best friend.
But, and yes, sometimes there’s always a but, and this one is a BIG BUT . . .
He is positively, without question or equal, the noisiest person on the planet and I sometimes wonder how we ended up together.
I love stillness in the air and on the wind. I seek the solitude that only comes with being apart from the hustle and bustle.
I pursue and delight in peace and quiet.
But that man I share my life with resides at the opposite end of the scale. Every waking minute of every day is an opportunity for him to let the rest of the world know he’s here.
The noise he makes is an assault to my senses. The banging the clanging, his loud voice, his stomping feet, …
Every sound enters my head and resonates a thousand fold, bashing and crashing inside my skull, trying to force it’s way out anyway and anywhere it can, creating pain, real pain that cannot escape, but rather continues to echo, over and over again.
Seriously! Why does he have to be so noisy?
“If I’m up, everyone’s up!” That’s his philosophy, and while he walks around the house banging and clanging everything he touches, I want to hide myself somewhere, pack my mind away into a vacuum.
Somewhere safe, where sound can’t travel. Where the barrage of acoustic bullets are barricaded. Where I’m cocooned, and cushioned. Protected from his perpetual bombardment.
Some days I worry. Is he going deaf, or I am I just too sensitive?
Perhaps it’s me? He does joke about my hearing and often deems it super-hero-worthy. I hear every word he mumbles, ever misdirected comment he utters as he walks away, every thought before it’s uttered.
Ok, I guess that’s just part and parcel of married life and after 30 years we do think each others thoughts.
But while mine are carefully constructed, softly spoken words, his are entire explosions dispersing shrapnels of soul piercing sound at me in wave after wave of noise that rocks me to my core.
God give me strength. Someone? Anyone?
“Stop!” I say. I don’t yell that word for fear of adding to my own pain. “Please, stop!” I beg.
I cover my eyes preventing my head from mimicking the pathway of sound and following it into every corner of the room.
He looks at me as if I have two heads and says.
“The only time you don’t make noise is when your dead!”
How do I argue with that?