Static where there used to be hair

My life is filled with noise now, static to be exact.  Everywhere we go there is some device generating imprecise pink or white noise;  ever voluminous, without meaning.  It calms the child down: presumably, acceptably, understandably, sometimes, emphatically.

We have it in the bedroom, a "Sleep Sheep" plays a selection of whales-oceans-rains-and-forests, we can monitor it from afar in the kitchen or bathroom with the "First Years" one-way radio tele-sponders, there is an extra i-phone to be used in the stroller, always only a pocket away lie apple products.  In the car we tune to a location previously avoided over the course of a lifetime, situated perfectly between stations we perform the inexplicable: we turn up the radio to a nearly deafening measure of minor fuzzy mischief.

Then comes the occasional peace.


Left, of course, after all this forlorn loving, there is mother's mouth, ever shushing.


SSSSSHHHHHhhhhhhsssssss............

SSSSSHHHHHhhhhhhsssssss............




SSSSSHHHHHhhhhhhsssssss............





SSSSSHHHHHhhhhhhsssssss............






SSSSSHHHHHhhhhhhsssssss............

This sort of noise used to madden me.
It would anybody, but it did me.

I've almost gotten used to it.  I start to feel sleepy, even when I'm driving.





SSSSSHHHHHhhhhhhsssssss............

.