Anywho, my sleep found its way to be disturbed at around midnight when a noise I can only describe as being something that equals to the world ending burst through my windows, waking me up from my slumber. I stirred, I looked around my dark room and I scolded myself for not being more pro-active in building my underground bunker underneath my new home. After all, I am the author of a book about the end of the world... I should be more prepared.
Briefly I considered the irony of a woman who spends her whole life geared around survivors of an apocalypse, not actually having an escape route of her own and then figured that if I was going to die, I might as well do it sleeping and turned over, placed a pillow over my head to drown out the continuing noise and attempted to dose off once more.
It was only after another ten minutes of this deafening noise that I realised something else might be up. I emerged from man-made cocoon and looked accusingly at my open windows as if they held the responsibility for the noise and so therefore should provide me with an explanation. When they stared back at me innocently and without a single sign of an apology, I realised that panes of glass bordered by plastic holdings probably weren't to blame. The noise continued... And continued... And apparently my accusing stare wasn't scaring it away.
I growled and decided to move my accusing stare elsewhere, hoping this might stop the noise. I grabbed my dressing gown and opened my bedroom door. The noise increased in volume although still clearly originating from outside. I moved to the bathroom at the back of the house and transferred my glare to this direction of the house. It would appear I was now facing the correct direction to the sound although I was still non the wiser as to where it was coming from.
I would like to point out at this section that when I am half asleep, I am not at my cleverest. I tend to deviate from logicality and search for an easy solution to things, even if the answer is something that might appear to be what the kids call "insane."
I therefore made my way downstairs and flung open my back door to my garden, walking barefoot into the middle of my garden and stared accusingly at the sky in the direction of the noise. It was at this point that I realised the noise was in fact music. Only this music wasn't coming from a sound system one might find in a house, no; this music sounded as if someone had just picked up Wembley Arena, tore down its walls and unleashed the concert music on the rest of the world.
Now, although I live in London, I am just enough outside it that there are no clubs nearby, and my particular area is completely run by the Greek Community. So much so, that I can't remember ever hearing any music being played in this particular area that wasn't of the Greek variety. This was clear RnB. And on top of the music was a man who felt the need to repeat sentences of the song intermingled with a series of "yeah" and "Uh" and "say what?" I was officially not impressed. Where the hell was this music coming from?
Once again, not really applying logic to my reasonings, I decided that if the noise had woken me up, it was clearly news worthy and so would obviously be on the news, or at least Google. So I searched "noise in Palmers Green" and waited patiently for my phone to bring up what I was sure to be an endless list of reasons as to why there was music playing at the stupidly late hour of 12am.
Imagine my surprise when google and my news apps came up empty. What's more, twitter was completely silent as well. (With the exception of a guy complaining about how he had to get three buses to get to Palmers Green and my own tweet complaining about the noise.) I was entirely bereft. My phone had failed me for the first time ever. This only meant one thing... I would have to go in search of the noise myself.
What exactly I planned to do when I found the noise, I was unsure. I think I was leaning towards finding the man talking over his "music" and ask him to minimise his ongoing commentary to a small introduction at the beginning of each tune as well as introducing some more mellow and sleep inducing numbers into his repertoire. This certainly had to be the better option rather than TLC's Scrubs which had just come on the sound system. Although apparently I was in the minority as now I could hear the sound of a throng of people singing along with the chorus...
I was close to crying at this moment. Did these people not have jobs to go to in the morning? Why were people still out and singing? That's just ridiculous.
There was only one answer that seemed feasible to me; the end of the world was actually happening and they were all having one last party before falling to their inevitable deaths... Yes, the books I've been writing may have slightly warped my view on life. I should probably take a small break from writing this second one and work on gaining some form of sanity again.
All of this was not important at what was now 12:30am. I was getting more and more angry and, mingled with my sleep deprivation, I was ready to find the source of the music and pull out the plug altogether.
I walked back in the house and made my way to the front door, reaching up to open it before I remembered that I was, in fact wearing a dressing gown with nothing but a bikini underneath (it's been really hot here lately).
For all my half awake state, I still had enough brain cells to realise that I would need to change clothes before single handedly ruining someone's party. I thought about that for a moment and my own sleepiness won out; marching out in the middle of the night to an unknown location was one thing but actually getting dressed? That was too much energy.
As such, I resorted to sitting on the bottom stair of my home and glancing longingly at the closed bedroom doors around me, mentally willing one of the men inside to come out and volunteer to be the saviour of my sleep.
Nothing happened.
I stared more intensely.
No movement was made.
I began to question my sanity.
Before I go into the reasons for my next thought process I would like to:
A) Remind you that I was half asleep still.
B) Point out that I work around mental health on a daily basis and so voices in people's heads are pretty much like my bread and butter.
I deduced at this point that, due to the fact that the music was deafening, no one was announcing it on the news, and not one of my housemates had stirred, I was therefore clearly hearing music in my head. What if it was something only I could hear? What if, instead of the average Schizophrenic who tends to hear a voice talking to them, my brain had chosen to fill my head with catchy, slightly annoying tunes from the late 90s/early millennium? That would be typical of my brain. Stupid over achiever.
This thought, as ridiculous as it may seem, scared my half awakened state into a state of fear that had me running back to my bed and crawl under my covers in a state of utmost denial.
You'll be pleased to know that the possible insanity driven music turned itself off at about 2am. Apparently, even my brain has a curfew.
Peace out my lovelies.
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