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My One True Life by wayward heart
 
January 2022
1One Down, 364 To Go
2Curd Is the Word!
4Ready, Freddy
5Twelfth Night
6The Good, The Bad, and the "Meh"
7We're Connected. But Barely
8Up Again
9Muffins and Mozzarella
11Today
12Lather, Rinse, Repeat
13An Early Morning Makes For a Long Day
14All I Can Say Is 😠
15Delivery Surprise
16It's My Bag
17Tea & Cake
18Tuesday Tidbits
19Survey Time!
20Peaceful, But Dull
21That Was Interesting
22The Kindness Of Strangers
23Brrrrrrrrrrrrrr Sunday
24Choo Choo
25Untitled By Choice
26Not a Good Day
27Better Day


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All I Can Say Is 😠
January 14, 2022

I was on the phone this morning with Scott. He told me about his brother’s reaction to the large speakers in Scott’s living room. Scott likes his music, and he likes it loud. His choice.

Since we were on the subject of music, he asked me if I listen to my music. I answered his question honestly. I said that, no, I don’t listen to my music very much. I explained why: Brother usually has the TV on in one room, while Mom streams classical music in the other. That leaves me with my room. I can play CD’s on my computer, or drag in a boombox, but my room lacks a comfortable chair, and I can’t play anything too loud so as not to disturb anyone else.

Suddenly, Mom, who’d been sitting on the other side of the room, gets up, and starts muttering to herself (but loud enough for me to hear, of course, in her passive-aggressive way): “She (meaning me) makes it sound like she’s in Hell. Nobody’s told her she can’t listen to music. You’d think it’s so terrible here........” She mumbled a few more comments, but hadgone into the other room, so I couldn’t hear them.

Just as well, cause I was pissed off enough by the comments I did hear. First of all, I wasn’t talking to her. I was having a personal (though obviously not private) conversation with a friend.

Secondly, I wasn’t whining or complaining. I was just answering Scott’s question. I never said anyone told me I couldn’t listen to my music. I simply explained why it’s difficult.

Thirdly, her muttering and mumbling so that I could hear her was incredibly rude and childish.

I was tempted to hang up and tell her off, but I didn’t.

It’s true nobody has stopped me physically or verbally from playing music I want to hear, and god knows Mom and Brother play what they like regardless of whether or not I like it. But since they like the same music, I feel outnumbered. Brother would probably tolerate my music, but I know Mom doesn’t care for it (other than Barry Manilow. She likes him).

The truth is, I just don’t feel comfortable putting Fogelberg or Springsteen or Fleetwood Mac on with them home. The music is personal, and I can’t enjoy it knowing someone is just waiting for it to be over so they don’t have to hear it (which is how I feel when they’re listening to jazz, which I hate).

Sometimes, I’ll listen on my tablet with earbuds, but it’s not the same. Sometimes, on Sunday, while I talk to Carol, I put on MusicChoice on the TV and listen to the ‘70’s channel.

I know it’s my choice not to play the music I like, and I never said it wasn’t. So where Mom got the idea that I made it sound like this is Hell, I don’t know. But I’m still pretty annoyed by her muttered remarks, and more so by the fact that she made them at all.
 
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