I do most of my work, and living, in a small cabin in the woods. That’s the way I like it. The atmosphere is relaxing, serene. No pesky neighbors spying on my, no dogs barking, no traffic noise, sirens or honking. I can do my paranormal research and debunking in peace and quiet.
This week, however, I decided to spend some time in town. I own a little furnished row house that I typically rent, but it was available this month so I figured, what the hell. It’s nice to be around people sometimes, and a little stroll down to one of my favorite BYO restaurants is good for the spirit.
So what happens? A reminder of why I moved to the boonies! The neighbors’ smoke detectors start beeping! Three of them total I think, and the damn things beep, beep, beep, back and forth, over-lapping and counter chirping their shrill beeping conversation like drunk crickets arguing in a bar. The neighbors are at work and these things are hard-wired to the house so it doesn’t matter if the batteries die. They will beep all day.
And I know there’s no fire! How? There isn’t some flaming bagel forgotten in the toaster oven. The damn things went haywire yesterday too! Cops even showed up to peek in the windows. Finally the folks returned from work and managed to quiet their little army of beeping psychological torture devices.
Yes. Psychological torture! Ever sit and listen to smoke detectors blaring for hours? All day? It is torture, plain and simple!
My only hope is that the owners will come home from work early today, since it is Friday. Meanwhile, I’m about to head out to Walmart because I can’t even hear myself think. People watching at Walmart has got to be better than this! It’s going to be a short week here, the mountains are calling. I would much rather do my paranormal research while listening to spring peepers, not smoke detectors.