I hate noise

…says someone in the midst of studying for her candidacy exams.

Everything is really loud. The wind clanging the blinds together. The guy upstairs walking to what I presume is his refrigerator, given the sound patterns. Me typing. Me talking — even when people tell me to speak up. (I’m always loud. Don’t they get it? Loud, loud, loud.) Cars — need I say more about cars? The hallways at school, filled with feet and hands and mouths and papers and hair and eyelids and trashcans and mop buckets and plastic wheels and cellphones and clocks (some living, some dead) and doors and windows and air units and keyboards and beeps and teeth and light switches and flickering fluorescents and benches and…

I am home today, writing. And reading. I’m just wrapping up a five-week writing course, a course that I taught and enjoyed and feel exhausted over. The quarter system is fast-paced. The half-quarter system is even more fast-paced.

Scissors make noise. As does cardstock. But cutting out rainbow infinity signs is a welcome break from grading, a more welcoming sort of noise:

Crickets.