either way, it’s true

I was planning on referring back to how I’ve said before that Noah is a manipulative sociopath, but it turns out that was said in a draft post that I never published. None the less, the sentiment rings true.

This morning Teresa took Noah to school. Today will be his 3rd day. The school uses a drop-off system where you drive up, a teacher opens the car door and pulls your kid out, and then you drive away. It’s the fastest, simplest way to get the kids into the school.

Noah, of course, doesn’t want to participate in this system. He’d rather Teresa park the car, pull him and Desi out, and walking him into class.

So what does he do right as Teresa pulls up to the teacher waiting to pull him out? He locks the door.

unconscious drumming

All through my schooling I dealt with a condition. Constantly keeping me from concentrating, always ensuring I’d be the bane of my teachers’ lives. It never distracted me personally, but it distracted everyone else around me, and it certainly brought things to a halt when a teacher would have to stop class to address the issue.

“Tony. STOP DRUMMING.”

Unconscious drumming. Other drummers understand my plight. It mostly comes when I’m in deep concentration. It aids my thought process. Whether it be a muffled thud of my feet on the floor, or dull slap of my fingertips on the desk, it pretty much drove everyone nuts. Everyone but me. What drove me nuts, was trying to not do it. The amount of concentration it took for me to NOT drum, was twice the amount I would have when drumming.

Maybe this will be my new ex-post-facto excuse for my performance in school.

Today, I sit on the train, eyes closed, relaxing. Alien Ant Farm plays on my mp3 player. Moments pass, and I’m suddenly aware of a pressure on my finger. It’s my wedding ring vibrating against my finger. At the same time a sound comes to my attention. It is a high pitch tinking sound, coming from the direction of my hand. It plays in perfect rhythm with Alien Ant Farm‘s Rubber Mallet.

I open my eyes, and I’m greeted with the stares of four other people.

“Sorry.”

It never ends.