I cannot stand the sound of silence. Not so much, however, that I feel the need to fill the dead air with meaningless words, just because it is deadly quiet (as in, let’s say, conversation).
No, no. This is a different sort of brand.
I used to do this before The Girl: While I was at college, my (kinda psycho) roommate had a small portable television. I would turn that thing on while going to sleep, after a hard night’s partying, err studying-keeping it low just to have the sound. She was hardly ever there, anyway.
I did it at the last place I lived (before I had The Girl), where it was just me and my then boyfriend. He never stayed up late into the night as I did, so I’d turn that TV (or radio) on again while I wrote, so I wouldn’t have to listen to the silence.
Why is it so hard to accept the sound of silence?
(The sound of silence was nowhere to be found this morning: The Girl got up at 4 am)