I feel like I’m going broke. There isn’t enough silence around my house any more. If silence is golden, I might have to declare bankruptcy soon. Maybe I can sell some of my yarn and go live in the attic.
Before I go further, I have to say that I am the least “nice” person in my family. I have a terrific family and I’m really lucky about that. I don’t have people I hate, people who drive me totally crazy, people who have abused or tormented me, or anything like that. I get along with pretty much everyone who is related to me by blood (except the one cousin who I insulted because he voted for Trump).
I know many of you reading this think I’m nice, but you only know TeacherDonna or EuroDonna. I have multiple personalities. The real me is a crabby, judgemental bitch. I’m definitely not easy to live with. I hate when people talk to me or make noise. I don’t like to hear music or the TV playing during the day, unless I’m set up for Knitting & Netflix, or playing one of my favorite shows or movies as background noise while I’m napping. I don’t like anyone to come near me or breathe in my half of the house when I’m working.
My mom’s been living with us for about six years or so, first year-round, and then just in spring and summer after we moved to Vermont. She likes to sit in her den with her dog and draw all day with no noise. Sometimes we text each other (mom has an iPhone, an Apple watch, and two, yes two, iPads). Sometimes we have breakfast or lunch at the same time. Mostly we sit in our own corners of the house doing our own thing all day.
Mom’s dog does bark a lot though. She apparently doesn’t realize that no one can hear the barking from outside, and she feels like she has to protect us from any and all passersby and everyone who visits the vet, which is directly across the street from our house.
My dad just moved in a few months ago. Although he doesn’t recognize this about himself, he is much more social than the rest of us. He talks a lot. And he is also a luddite. He worked for his entire career as an electronics engineer and he understands hardware better than I ever will, but he refuses to text or even leave his iPhone turned on. (Why the hell did I ever show him how to turn it off when he asked me, “What’s this button on the right side of the phone for?”)
So, techno-phobe Dad walks around in the house (good, it’s exercise) and talks to me and Dom off and on all day. Dad and Dom can talk for hours about what size of screw is needed for a project or how the fuel injector on the snow blower is supposed to work. And because my voice is high pitched, if I try to get in the conversation, Dad doesn’t hear me.
Dad tells jokes and watches TV a lot, too. Mostly informational stuff and funny stuff on YouTube, played at a loud level because he’s losing his hearing. Unfortunately how-to videos and comedy are my least favorite things. I have a warped sense of humor and most of the time it isn’t triggered by what anyone else considers funny. It’s all part of my not-being-a-nice-person persona.
Because my studio and the shop are under construction, my private space is temporarily non existent. I can’t wait till the construction is done so I can go upstairs and hang a “Don’t Bother Me, I’m Working, Dammit” sign up on my studio door. And then I’ll be rich and basking in golden silence again, but I’ll feel guilty for being a bitch. At least I won’t be ready to bite everyone’s head off all the time.