The Sound of Silence

For years, every Tuesday morning at 5am I've been awakened by the distinct "beep-beep-beep-clank-clank-clank" of garbage trucks on trash day. But suddenly, the past few Tuesdays have been silent. No trucks. No beeping or clanking. Just the pre-dawn stillness of 5am. Seems the sanitation department changed their schedule and pick up is now in the afternoon at 5pm.

I am not pleased.

Not that I can call Waste Management about this. I can just imagine the look on the person's face as I complain about the lack of noise at 5am. 

But in the hushed darkness of early morning or late evening, the absolute silence is louder than any garbage truck, honking car, or barking dog. It's an unearthly silence where I can hear the ringing in my ears, the pumping of my heart, and the blood coursing through my veins like the Indy 500. A silence that threatens to break at any given second with the sudden piercing intrusion of a dying smoke alarm battery or the ominous crack of breaking glass. The silence is the reason why I run my Roomba right before going to bed. I doze off to the reassuring whir of my little iRobot as it bumps into furniture and baseboards, warding off uninvited sounds while sweeping all that dog hair. And if it finishes before I fall asleep, I turn on a podcast, although I've yet to stay awake through one. It's not the subject I'm seeking, it's the noise. Any ambient noise to mask that ear-shattering silence.  

I know, weird...or maybe not. Because when I Googled the subject, I read that Robert Roth, Ph.D, Director of the Sleep Disorders and Research Center at Henry Ford Hospital in Detroit, told Prevention Magazine that "...if your room is too quiet, every little 'inconsistency of sound' becomes that much more evident and disruptive." 

Hear that, Waste Management? Straight from the expert's mouth. Or to paraphrase a certain song:

"Hello darkness, my old friend, we need the garbage trucks again."

Uh, at 5am, please. Thank you.