Lockdown, Vol 4 - Part Four, Making Noise for the Sake of Making Noise

It was quiet. Soulshatteringly, dispiritingly, deathly quiet.

Elise took Peter and Clementine to the recreation center for online school today for a change of scenery. There, they could get a little social interaction, ride scooters on their breaks, and even take a dip in the pool at lunch. 

Sam and I stayed home. It was disturbingly quiet. Most days are filled with an unending onslaught of noise. Kids fighting, crying, screaming and shouting, Peter blasting, Star Wars cartoons raining laser fire and brimstone from the TV room, random bird calls, chipmunks that chatter constantly outside the window in the garden, construction noise from next door, the whine of circular saws and the thud-thud-thud of viscous globs of plaster smacking the skylight, cars racing up and down our lane, the garbage truck blasting it's horn that sounds like an air raid siren, the incessant ringing of the doorbell by beggars looking for money, the infuriating twinkle of "It’s a Small World After All" from the bread tuk meandering the city. 

The kids make noise for the sake of making noise, random humming, the inharmonius mimic of a homemade kazoo, moaning, screeching from behind laptop computers in response to nothing, to no one in particular. 

I'm more likely to see a mastodon march through our living room than experience a moment of quiet. Then, when it does come, it is so disconcerting, so disquieting, to be upsetting. 

The lockdown has been extended for two more weeks. Until October 1.

It's hard to feel any more disappointment. One would have to have hopes to feel disappointment. Some days are better than others. Today is Friday. Thankfully. Today is a pretty good day. Thankfully. 

This lockdown has been the most difficult of the four to navigate emotionally. Much of the city continues to function normally. There is traffic. There are people out and about. There is no enforcement of the lockdown, yet my office keeps us holed up in our homes save for an hour and a half per day at the recreation center. The kids can't go to school. Elise and I have been sneaking out before the sun gets up to run the same mile loop around the block. We can't travel outside of Colombo or leave the city. I think if we hadn't already been playing this game for a year and a half, we'd be in a better place. 

This time around, it is having to make a sacrifice no else is willing to make to get the kids back in school that is the most discouraging. We keep asking kids to make these sacrifices to keep the vulnerable, infirm, and elderly safe. But now that those populations are largely  vaccinated, no one is willing to make those same sacrifices for the kids who have offered up so much already. 

Yesterday, Elise accused me of having 'parenting fatigue'. It's a hurtful diagnosis but probably not inaccurate. Last weekend, we played a rousing game of water polo. Lots of noise. Lots of making noise for the sake of making noise. Maybe that's how we'll survive this. We'll scream and cry and fight and laugh our way out if it. 

Lots of noise.