I Either Vent Or I Start Throwing Things.I am a college student. We're elbow-deep in the term, which means lots of homework, midterms, reviewing, etc. So that's what I've spent most of this beautiful Sunday doing-- staying indoors, working on my education.
One little problem. Or should I say, four or five little problems. Which sound for all the world like about fifty little problems.
There is a clutch of small children here, all about age eight and under, who from 7 AM on run up and down the sidewalk out front, shrieking and riding metal-wheeled toys. Not sporadically... CONSTANTLY. For HOURS. Nothing, literally nothing, is conveyed in anything less than an earsplitting part-screech, part-whine: "Mol-LY! Mol-LY! Mol-LY!" "AAAAAAGGGH!" "That's MIIIIIINE!" And what is it about a kid that they run so flatfootedly that a tiny little sandal sounds like a two-by-four slapping against the concrete? Damn kid can't weigh more than forty pounds. I've heard quieter linebackers.
Now granted, we're in a second lull as I write this. I think the baby mamas (naturally, the daddies don't live nearby) actually feed these little bastards, which only gives them energy to repeat the earlier performances-- anywhere but in Mommy's living room, of course.
I guess having a problem with this makes me an evil, bad person. Isn't the never-ending blood-curdling shriek of a three-year-old girl's "outside voice" supposed to be ambrosia to my ears, coming as it does from a sweet little child? Shouldn't listening to someone else's crotchfruit test their boundless energy for hours on end make me want to cry with joy, rather than smash all the dinnerware against the nearest wall? And, most importantly, doesn't such music make me regret my decision to not joyously, mindlessly add to the world's population?