Most people have noises they fall asleep best too.
Because sleep - good sleep - is important.
For the fortunate people, it is the absolute mental and physical rejuvenation that is only truly possible to have, keep and genuinely enjoy when childless and without truly great responsibility. Others, the regular people (the privileged and the medicated, mostly) fixate on a steady sound, rhythm, beat or song that best lulls them to the sweet, loving embrace of sleep.
Whether that sound was silence, rainfall, their breathing, waterfalls and running water, their heartbeat, jungle noises, the quieting rustle of their mattress and the blankets, animal noises, their partner's breathing or body, white noise or music or the sounds of the television - it's completely individual.
It's what works for them.
Imagine that's what they're used too.
Then there's you.
You're the person that never sleeps well. You toss and shift and turn and squirm and worm and open your eyes to focus in on the glowing numbers of your alarm clock (just in case you accidentally managed to fall asleep at some point between the last time you checked it) and fail to really hit your unconscious stride - because instead of sleeping - you prefer to worry and stress about just how little time you actually have left to sleep.
It's a vicious cycle.
You wake up feeling tired, lethargic, irritable, and it impacts the first few hours of your day - until you gobble down some caffeine and sugar and manage to hobble your way through another one before repeating the process all over again.
Sleep - good sleep - is a commodity.
Imagine then, the intense anger - the frustration - that might take you if somebody denied you your god given right to a few hours of sleep - how fucking furious you would be that those strange people you didn't know were selfishly having the best sex of their life just next door - or a few doors down - or across the street - or anywhere within sight or eyesight or earshot, really.
Imagine how the sounds of animalistic, lusty, purposeful passion (it sounds a little bit like bed springs, wet slapping noises and grunts and howls - in case you were curious) would draw your attention, like a moth to the flame, towards your anger; which is all the fuel the dwindling fire of your unwanted consciousness needs to reignite back to it's regular blazing glory.
You were criticizing their sex noises in your head. You'd never admit it, but you were.
Be honest.
Sex was not a noise most people fell asleep best too. You had to wonder about the ones that did.
It's too distracting. Too engaging. Too arousing.
Especially when it sounded that good.
Especially when you've never had it sound that good.
It made you angry.
Not because strangers were having the times of their lives, of course. Nothing inherently wrong with that.
You're angry because you can hear them. Hear the effort they're putting in to pleasure each other - and some part of you is jealous. Envious. Because you can't get to sleep; because your spouse isn't that passionate; because you aren't that passionate. Your sex life is tepid - irregular - lukewarm - comfortably uncomfortable - and theirs is aflame. Boiling. Fun.
You're angry because your mind, which controls your consciousness, comes to realize and internalize, at some point, on a very quiet and subconscious level - even if you're not quite aware of it - that there are certain things you don't get to have, or enjoy, because you never bothered to earn them.
Whether that's success, sex, money, or just a few hours of goddamned sleep.
You don't understand how to do it - or how others do it - how they simply close their eyes and just be comfortable. How they just let go; how they consciously choose to stop worrying and disconnect. How they shift the object, the focus, of their mind's eye to the regular, relaxed state of their breathing, or another sound - rather then the annoyingly vivid and emotionally taxing recall of the day's events.
The day's mistakes.
The day's problems.
You don't understand how other people shut out the exterior world; and change their focus to the interior one; nerves firing and vibrating; the fatigue and trauma of another long day ringing through your body and mind like liberty bells that are habitually ignored and overlooked; leading your subconscious - desperately needing time to recover from another long day of exertion and effort and failure and some small, minor accomplishments - seizes the reigns, takes control, and allows your conscious mind to soak into that dark, restful, silent oblivion while it repairs and reorganizes the tattered shambles you've made of everything.
For a few hours.
Before the whole thing starts all over again and it becomes your problem again.
Nobody ever talks about it.
What people living in an apartment buildings do choose to talk about is the new person who just moved in across the hall, or down the hall - or on the floors directly above and below the horrible, enthusiastic sex noises. Did you hear that last night? Yeah, I think everybody heard that, hurr hurr. Obligatory jokes and comments.
Yeah, I thought about calling the police too. How selfish of them.
Think of the children traumatized by the sounds of passion.
How dare they.
================================================================================
You ever have one of those days when you just do not want to wake up?
When you're conscious of the dry, dehydrated, gross taste in your mouth long before you actually crack open your eyelids.
Those days when you just don't care enough to do something, anything, about the awful taste. You may have been snoring. Drool could be a bit of an issue. Dignity and unconsciousness are rarely on speaking terms.
You slept well. Deeply.
Despite yourself.
One of those.
As Sonya's dark lashes fluttered to life, wincing and recoiling a little from the sunlight streaming in through the window at an unfamiliar angle; it took her eyes and mind a moment to get it together and put a face on her new surroundings. She was experiencing that sensation you have when you're on vacation, or traveling, or visiting somebody.
Like your sleeping is right, but the where is wrong. It's hard to describe.
It's the same feeling people have after a good (or bad, depending on how you want to think about it) night of drinking. Or partying. Or clubbing.
Unfamiliarity.
You learn to get used to it - but it's always there. Home is where the heart is.
It always happens when you move somewhere new - at some point or another you find yourself painfully aware of the differences in your new furniture arrangement (in this case; unlabeled torn garbage bags packed full of clothing and a randomly placed drawer-less dresser laying haphazardly against the wall); your new ceiling (was that a stain? She'd have to talk to the landlord about that) and the big mess you know you're going to have to get around to dealing with.
It sucked.
Moving sucked.
She sighed, yawned and gave a wicked looking stretch before sinking back into the mattress with a small sigh.
You see, Sonya had just finished moving in to her new apartment last night - with the help of one of her classmates. She shifted position, caught the inglorious whiff of body odour and it all came flooding back - the call, her classmate, the move, the beers, the...
The sex.
Dear god, the sex.
Her eyes sprung open as her mind splashed her consciousness in the face with cold spring water.
Wakey, wakey.
She slammed her eyes back shut as adrenaline, stress and anxiety began to spread through her.
No, she couldn't think of that now. Not yet. She had absolutely no idea what she was going to do, how to proceed or even what to think. Her apartment was a tidy compared to the state of her personal life, right now. Her head was pounding a little as the beer she had last night took in the views, enjoyed the sights and left a distinct, unique trail composed entirely of garbage floating around her system.
She knew that to be true because she could taste it. Taste the garbage.
