my life as a cartoon character

Since my inauguration as a mother, I have become a much lighter sleeper (though not physically lighter, unfortunately). A combat veteran with a knife under his pillow could not have more lightning-quick responses to the slightest noise. When A was still an infant and cried in the middle of the night, it would jolt me so much that I'd be coursing with nervous energy for hours afterward. The scene in Pulp Fiction comes to mind, where the heroin-overdosed Mia Wallace gets an adrenaline shot to the heart and gasps immediately to life.

Thankfully, my reflexes have softened a bit over time, and it's only when A cries that I have that visceral electric shock of wakefulness. Even so, I am much more bothered by noises at night, and quickly become irritated when I am trying to sleep in, and hear everything going on outside my window. Such was this morning's experience, from 2 AM when I went to sleep till 10, when D brought up a lovely cup of tea to coax me into the land of the conscious.

My night was like the Looney Tunes cartoon where Sylvester was living in the lighthouse, and a series of mirrors and the pendulum of the clock beamed the full force of the light into his eyes, one irritation after another, until he went insane with rage and thwarted sleep. It's always the false hope bit that escalates the annoyance: the noise/light/vibration stops, and you think, "Aah, finally I can----BANG BANG BANG BANG!!!!" AUUUUGH!!

First it was the apparent 8-alarm fire or massacre or something that drove every available fire truck and ambulance out of their stations and screaming along nearby roads. Then speeding motorists with accompanied yells of anger from people who escaped with their lives, then it was the woodpecker. A singularly annoying sound, persistent, regular, and loud even with the windows closed. Then the car alarm directly under the bedroom window, which sounded like it had driven up the wall and parked on my bedside table. And then the coup-de-grace: the little black terrier hell-hound across the street. This dog weighs no more than 8 pounds, but each shrieking bark is like an ice pick driven into your ear drum. They should send that dog to Guantanamo Bay to be used on especially recalcitrant detainees. Though I think it would be too inhumane a punishment.

So I'm up, ok?? I give up! You won! Your lawnmowers, leaf-blowers, vacuum cleaners and pre-pubescent belligerent children with wiffle balls can have it all! Just don't stare too much at the tufts of hair I've pulled out of my own head and the sandy purple bags under my bloodshot eyes. I just might have to fire up the power washer.