Right now, I am shattered. My nerves have been stretched to their very limit.
There is a major street construction project going on right outside my bedroom window. It’s necessary work – the overhead electrical and tele-com wires are being put underground. It should have been done decades ago. But it also means that starting right around seven a.m., I am bombarded by constant, endless noise.
The beeping of trucks and backhoes backing up. The roar of the motors. Scraping metal as bulldozers pull up asphalt. Clanging metal as they shift huge metal plates here and there to keep people from falling into the trenches that have been dug.
I have always been noise-sensitive. Even in my teens, way back, my peers were cranking up their music to mega decibels. I kept mine turned down. A friend loaned me her car and asked if I’d be worried because her radio didn’t work. I was great with that. Before Google Maps, if I had the radio on, it was to listen for the traffic reports.
Things got worse that way with COVID. Staying in my nice, quiet house would have been Heaven, if I hadn’t been so worried about getting sick. After that settled down, I came to crave my quiet more than ever. Even having music on in the background got to me. And I love music.
Now, with my fire-strained mental state more stressed than it’s ever been, I’ve got noise, noise, noise. It’s so bad that even after the workers have left for the day, I can still feel it in my bones. I’ve tried earplugs. The work is so loud that I can still hear it, and it really doesn’t cut out that high-pitched backing-up beeping. Which makes sense. The workers are wearing ear plugs and they need to hear the beeps.
I’ve tried working away from home, but the noise still follows me. The roar of buses and trucks on the road. Sirens from police and fire. Music at coffee places and restaurants. Loud conversations or children chattering during story-time at the library. Plus, it’s expensive to buy lunch every day.
My concentration, which was never that good to begin with and which has only gotten worse since the fire, is totally shot to hell and then some. Writing is a struggle. It’s taking me hours to finish this, something that would only have taken one in earlier times.
There is light at the end of the tunnel. The crews will be moving up the street in two weeks, possibly less. I just have to hang on. Yeah, the easy part. When they do, maybe I’ll be able to finally relax. I suspect it’s going to take a few days of peace first. But I will recover. I am reasonably confident of that.
