First off, you may have noticed that I spelled my name differently this time around. I think that this might be the proper way of spelling my name ... but I can't know these things for sure.
My ears hear stories day in and day out, and I feel that it is high time for my ears to tell their story.
I will start from right now and move backwards throughout the week.
Right now, there is music playing from a house nearby. This is not unusual. In fact, it is far more unusual for there not to be any music playing. It is pretty nice, to tell you the truth. I only really hear the bass line and it is nice to have a rhythm to set your daily activities to. Sometimes I even know the song. The other day Beyonce was on the speakers and I couldn't help but feel a little bit like I was at home- of course, that was until a goat ran across my path (a new reality check that I have grown quite fond of.)
Last night there was also music, but it wasn't from the speakers. I believe there is a ZCC (Zionist Christian Church) that meets at neighboring house. Friday nights are a night to stay up all hours of the night and sing the whole way through.
I like my personal Friday night soundtrack. It is a nice break from the usual chorus of dogs quarreling and donkeys dramatically hee-hawing. Though, I must admit, they're charming in their own right.
Wednesday night there was a storm. Oh, by the way, I have a tin roof. If you've never experienced an electrical storm while staying in a room with a tin roof, let me tell you: you're missing out. Boy, is it LOUD. Especially considering the fact that the thunder here is way louder than in America! I swear! I don't know how or even if this is possible, but I'm willing to put 1 rand 50 on it that it is true. And just so you know, that is enough to buy a scrumptious pineapple popsicle. So I hope you can tell that this is no light matter to me.
More on tin roofs: doves may be the symbol of peace, but after living in a room with a tin roof, that idea has just become ridiculous to me. 12+ times a day, I first hear the landing and scratching of the doves' claws on my roof, followed by a bickering of sorts. Why are they fighting on my roof? I have my theories.
I sometimes like to think of my roof as the "flag post" on the playground at lunchtime. One bully dove will say to another, smaller, vulnerable dove, "yo, I'll meet you on Megan's tin roof at every single hour of the day, every single day, especially in the wee-hours of the morn, and YOU'RE GONNA GET IT!" And of course the other dove, not wanting to appear a coward, obliges. And alas there is a dove-beat down. Right there, on top of my tin roof, where every detail is amplified for my listening pleasure.
A new noise has introduced itself to my ears just now. It is the noise of a gigantic, bird-like insect, stuck in between my curtains and the open window. No, no. Make that two gigantic, bird-like insects. And no Dad, there is no Clark here. This ordeal must be solved the old fashioned way- with a big ol' can of "DOOM." And so I will conclude this entry as I have pressing matters to attend to.