I don't have houses across from me, I have a high school's athletic field opposite my home. Well maintained green grass is a lovely view. Sporting events can be watched from the comfort of my own porch. The track is there inviting me to walk a lap or two or twenty but I still haven't RSVP'd.
Early fall, after a blessedly silent summer, the field awakens again with the marching band as it rehearses. Daily. For hours. With apologies to band students, directors and band parents, I know that practice makes perfect and that the field was there when we chose this house, but occasionally the repetitive tunes get to me. Today would be one of those days.
I can't count how many times I've heard Georgia or Thriller this afternoon and evening. I think each song only made it from beginning to end once or twice. The troublesome passages do seem to be improving, or perhaps my ears are becoming numb. I find myself quietly singing the words to Georgia On My Mind and being annoyed when the music stops and I still have lyrics to sing. You don't even want to picture me doing the dance from Michael Jackson's video while cleaning up the kitchen. If only I was as cute as Jennifer Garner.