Whenever I move, the greatest challenge is adjusting to new sounds. For the most part, an apartment's an apartment, and I've already given it a thorough visual inspection before arriving. So thorough, in fact, that I pay no attention to the aural landscape until much later.
There's a parrot next door. Well, there's a gay couple next door, and therefore a parrot. Not that all gay couples-you get the point. Anyway, I'm not a parrot expert (I'm not even a parrot amateur), so I'm completely ignorant of their habits and behaviors. However, I do know that this parrot whistles. It really whistles. Shrilly. Constantly. And worse yet, salaciously.
My summer sleeping habits include no pajamas, and every time I prepare to retire to the sofa bed, just when my shorts fall to the floor, I'm assailed by a string of notes, sung in an eery human-like fashion. Not quite a catcall, they seem to be saying "Heeeeyyy, lookee over heeeere". And though I know that the wretched thing is in some ornate brass cage, most likely adorned with false garnets and gold accents, the acoustics are such that its oddly masculine voice sails through my window and seems to come from very, very close by. I can almost feel its curved beak brushing my earlobe, its black eyes boring into the side of my head, its claws digging into my bare arm.
Lately I've taken to sleeping in a robe that I change into in my closet/bathroom. I've also invested in ear plugs, but they don't seem to be working.
"Heellloooooo over theeerrreee. Let's see what's under the terry cloth."
Is it me? Maybe I sent out some mixed signals, gave the parrot the wrong impression. I feel so dirty. Why am I blaming myself? Regardless, something's going to give soon. Or give it up.
"Heeeeeyyyyy you. I seeeee your light through the window."