February 21, 2011
-
This is the fastest internet connection I’ve ever had.
illustration by George BarbierIronically, this old plaster-and-steam-heat apartment is propelling me into the future.
After two weeks of no phone and only being online at work, I am once again connected to the rest of the world. It’s a mixed blessing, I guess (insofar as one could consider a paid utility a “blessing”). On the one hand, it’s very lovely to be able to start my day blogging and emailing (it’s always seemed so decadent, somehow) but there was a certain relief that came with being unable to stay in touch. It felt like a release from obligation. Oh, did you leave a message? I couldn’t pick it up; my phone hasn’t been connected yet! Morning’s were filled with unpacking or planning. Sometimes I finished painting; sometimes I just sat still and listened to the house humming. But here I am again, tip-tap-typing. The radio is on – weather, news. The predominant hum is in my head.
It’s just before 7:30 and I can hear someone above my head starting to wake. Soon an enormous, goofy dog will come loping down the stairs and straight to our door, snuffling and snarfing. The cat will lower himself onto his haunches and stare very hard at the gap under the door. (He is more curious than anything.) Then whatever silence this morning has afforded me will vanish like a mist. The people with whom we share this house – from whom we rent our little space – are very kind and very loud.
Their kids leave boots and shoes all over the common hallway and shout to each other outside our apartment door. The washer and dryer – access to which ought to be an utter delight – sound like jet engines in the nook adjacent to our den. (Their owners, who I can only imagine can’t hear them at all, like to do laundry between 6 and 8 AM.) God love them.
And it doesn’t help that I’ve been living in an eyrie for the last eight years. I can hardly remember what it’s like to have anything above my head heavier than a raccoon. (They were considerate enough to do their laundry elsewhere.)
I have decided to try and view it as a lesson in patience. (Naturally, my forbearance will translate to virtue.) Every time I can grin at the sound of rushing water and crashing buttons and zippers, every time I can tune out a personal conversation or admonishment that someone has 15 minutes to get up and get to school, I will praise my own good grace and stroke my vanity.
Could there be a better incentive than that?
g.
