The Soothing Sound of Torture
"Verrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr" is a sound that greets me on occasion. It doesn't bother me, but apparently it strikes fear in my teenage daughter. It's not just the sound that affects her. It's everything that comes along with it that gets to her. "Verrrrrrrrrrrrr". I don't mind the sound. In fact, I find it kind of soothing. It allows me to truly express myself. I have read to that sound. I have enjoyed deep thought while hearing that sound. But mostly, I have relaxed to that sound.
Making the best of a situation can take on many forms. When life gives you lemons, you make lemonade, right? As I mentioned in a previous blog post, I am currently living in a world of combination rooms. This has been a struggle. It really has. The cramped spaces and the loss of privacy can be annoying, stressful, and uncomfortable as Hell. These are "lemons". I have a teenage daughter that is building a middle-school social life...Let's make "lemonade'.
"Verrrrrrrrrrrrrr" The sound gave me joy as my teenage daughter screamed "No, Dad! Noooo!" Her terror made me smile. "Yes" I thought to myself as the bath fan roared to life. "Verrrrrrrrrrrrrrr" Fear gripped Gracie as she stood in the closet with the vanity and the sink. I laughed as I closed the door to the toilet/shower area. "Dad! No!" She was face-timing one of her friends on the other side of the door...Lemonade.
You learn at a very young age how to make "noises" by pressing your palms to your mouth and cheeks and blowing really hard. To civilized people, these aren't pleasant noises. They mimic the sound of a certain bodily function. A bodily function that is most often associated with the "Verrrrrrrrrrrrrrr" from a bathroom fan. Horrified at what may happen, Gracie pleaded for me not to use that bathroom. I did.
We have been here for about two months now, maybe more. I don't really know. I should have started scratching lines into the table that sits in the combination dining room/den to keep track of the days like a castaway. Most of my time here is spent sitting on the couch like Al Bundy or enjoying the urine scented fog that engulfs the pee pad covered porch. Oh, I can't forget the walks. Walk to the pantry. Walk to the fridge. Bump into a family member. Trip over a dog. Wash, Rinse, Repeat. Every day. Every damn day. Excitement for me in this apartment comes when the Chinese Food Delivery Guy shows up with Hunan Beef and a shitty fortune cookie.
"Verrrrrrrrrrrr" I cherish moments like this. Moments like my teenage daughter trying establish her place in society while I am on the other side of the door performing my best flutterblast impression. I do this while screaming "Oh, the humanity!" and "Make it stop!" I throw in a "Oh, dear" and "Would you look at that" for good measure. I continue this tirade for a while. Over the commentary and flutterblasts, she can be heard scrambling to escape the closet/vanity/sink area. The terror in her voice, the noises, the haunting dialog that accompanied my impressions, and the "Verrrrrrrrrrr" of the bath fan soothed me. This apartment has given me lemons, but I made a concert in the combination bathroom/closet. It may have tortured my daughter and scarred he social life, but for me the melody was sweet. It was the sweet sound of torture. It was my lemonade.
I don't exactly how much longer we will be here in this tiny apartment. I don't know how many more lemons will be given to me. I will try to enjoy the metaphorical lemonade each time it does. I will drink it up while I dream of drinking real lemonade Over Yonder.
Making the best of a situation can take on many forms. When life gives you lemons, you make lemonade, right? As I mentioned in a previous blog post, I am currently living in a world of combination rooms. This has been a struggle. It really has. The cramped spaces and the loss of privacy can be annoying, stressful, and uncomfortable as Hell. These are "lemons". I have a teenage daughter that is building a middle-school social life...Let's make "lemonade'.
"Verrrrrrrrrrrrrr" The sound gave me joy as my teenage daughter screamed "No, Dad! Noooo!" Her terror made me smile. "Yes" I thought to myself as the bath fan roared to life. "Verrrrrrrrrrrrrrr" Fear gripped Gracie as she stood in the closet with the vanity and the sink. I laughed as I closed the door to the toilet/shower area. "Dad! No!" She was face-timing one of her friends on the other side of the door...Lemonade.
You learn at a very young age how to make "noises" by pressing your palms to your mouth and cheeks and blowing really hard. To civilized people, these aren't pleasant noises. They mimic the sound of a certain bodily function. A bodily function that is most often associated with the "Verrrrrrrrrrrrrrr" from a bathroom fan. Horrified at what may happen, Gracie pleaded for me not to use that bathroom. I did.
We have been here for about two months now, maybe more. I don't really know. I should have started scratching lines into the table that sits in the combination dining room/den to keep track of the days like a castaway. Most of my time here is spent sitting on the couch like Al Bundy or enjoying the urine scented fog that engulfs the pee pad covered porch. Oh, I can't forget the walks. Walk to the pantry. Walk to the fridge. Bump into a family member. Trip over a dog. Wash, Rinse, Repeat. Every day. Every damn day. Excitement for me in this apartment comes when the Chinese Food Delivery Guy shows up with Hunan Beef and a shitty fortune cookie.
"Verrrrrrrrrrrr" I cherish moments like this. Moments like my teenage daughter trying establish her place in society while I am on the other side of the door performing my best flutterblast impression. I do this while screaming "Oh, the humanity!" and "Make it stop!" I throw in a "Oh, dear" and "Would you look at that" for good measure. I continue this tirade for a while. Over the commentary and flutterblasts, she can be heard scrambling to escape the closet/vanity/sink area. The terror in her voice, the noises, the haunting dialog that accompanied my impressions, and the "Verrrrrrrrrrr" of the bath fan soothed me. This apartment has given me lemons, but I made a concert in the combination bathroom/closet. It may have tortured my daughter and scarred he social life, but for me the melody was sweet. It was the sweet sound of torture. It was my lemonade.
I don't exactly how much longer we will be here in this tiny apartment. I don't know how many more lemons will be given to me. I will try to enjoy the metaphorical lemonade each time it does. I will drink it up while I dream of drinking real lemonade Over Yonder.
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