I cannot decide which of LA's charming alarm clocks I enjoyed being jolted awake by this morning. I keep going back and forth: was it the garbage truck rolling around at its usual 6:30 time slot right under the window? On the other hand, it may have been the squawking family of crows that resides outside my room and make Alfred Hitchcock's feathery foes sound like peaceful songbirds. I argue that those are the best part of waking up, not "Folger's in my cup." Who doesn't love interruption after interruption at the least opportune moments throughout the evening?
Kicking off the festivities was the incessant chatter of my neighbors which earplugs can thankfully drown out. My other neighbor's porch light, which must come from the same place as those blinding lights at football stadiums, was the next interruption to my REM cycle and put me in such a state of desperation that I was driven to the couch in the living room.
This seems like a non sequitur, but I swear I'm going somewhere with it, so bear with me. A few weeks ago there was a segment on NPR focusing on the prominent issue of helicopter noise in Los Angeles. I racked my brain for a single instance where this was a problem for me and couldn't think of one. Thus, I deemed the people calling in crazy and oversensitive, therefore jinxing myself. Last night, helicopters overhead jolted me from a restful state at least three times. These were not gently-whirring helicopters either; we are talking mutant helicopters that sounded as if they were hovering a foot outside the window.
Combine that with the garbage truck rolling around at 6:30 a.m. (why the city of LA deemed that time on a Wednesday the best one for trash collection is unfathomable to me) and the pitter patter of squirrel feet on my roof and it equals a very cranky and tired Marisa.
Kicking off the festivities was the incessant chatter of my neighbors which earplugs can thankfully drown out. My other neighbor's porch light, which must come from the same place as those blinding lights at football stadiums, was the next interruption to my REM cycle and put me in such a state of desperation that I was driven to the couch in the living room.
This seems like a non sequitur, but I swear I'm going somewhere with it, so bear with me. A few weeks ago there was a segment on NPR focusing on the prominent issue of helicopter noise in Los Angeles. I racked my brain for a single instance where this was a problem for me and couldn't think of one. Thus, I deemed the people calling in crazy and oversensitive, therefore jinxing myself. Last night, helicopters overhead jolted me from a restful state at least three times. These were not gently-whirring helicopters either; we are talking mutant helicopters that sounded as if they were hovering a foot outside the window.
Combine that with the garbage truck rolling around at 6:30 a.m. (why the city of LA deemed that time on a Wednesday the best one for trash collection is unfathomable to me) and the pitter patter of squirrel feet on my roof and it equals a very cranky and tired Marisa.
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