Dear White Noise,

I haven’t had much to say for a bit now.

There’s a reason for that. I haven’t let myself think.

I don’t like to. I’m too smart for my own good, and left to my own devices, my mind goes round and round and round. I pick things apart. I fester over mistakes. I rot over wrongs done. I wallow over old hurts.

It takes work to refocus on good things, to find happy memories instead. It takes effort to drag my mind to joyful things instead of letting it stray to the dark corners where old angst lies.

I don’t let myself think. I fill all my time. I read, I watch. I surf the Internet. I have the radio on. I don’t have empty time or quiet spaces. I don’t meditate. I don’t reflect. I pour a constant stream of words, of images, of busyness into every waking moment, then I add white noise at night to keep thought away even then.

So I have the emotional depth of a saucer, and I’m fine with that, because I am, in fact, happier this way. And while I haven’t deconstructed Proust in the original French, I can extol the virtues of some seriously trashy novels, say what’s on NPR at 3 a.m., and fill you in on early seasons of long, long running shows.

I’ll take happy, thanks. And I’ll remain,

Payne.

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One thought on “Dear White Noise,

  1. Spot on.

    I’ve taken a similar path of late – Deliberately keeping all my horses in the yard, so to speak, instead of letting them have the run of the paddock – And I hate that it’s thought of as being either somehow “A waste” or “A sign of being shallow”.

    Bugger that. Better happy and doing nothing more edifying than shout at the TV when Countdown is on, than having Deep Meaningful Thoughts and it being a dozen times more difficult to stop looking in the dark corners.

    If you’re up for suggestions, I find that a good white-noise-for-the-soul is to watch sitcoms in languages that you don’t understand. They fill up all the attention, but don’t really replace it with anything but noise and lights.

    Like

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