Living in a university town, surrounded by students, things can get pretty loud. Take last night.
When I got into bed at 10:30 the sounds of raucous carousing at some shindig in the apartment building across the street drifted in through my window. Realistically, I didn’t expect it to quiet down. The world is full of quiet places, but New Haven on the last weekend of summer would not be one of them. Regardless, I drifted off to sleep, only to be wakened shortly after midnight. The party seemed to be ramping up, rather than dying down.
The old me- I’m talking me last year- would have been annoyed. The old me would have nudged Sam from slumber to gripe. Our street is full of young families and old people, in addition to these hedonistic twenty-somethings. When is it officially late enough that it’s civically responsible and not old farty to call the police and request they send a squad car to shut it down, stat?
But the new Laura is chill. While being totally honest I would have been secretly relieved if one of the aforementioned young families or old people did in fact call the cops, I also must admit the partiers sounded like they were having a swell time. We used to go to parties like that. Hell, we used to throw them. Amidst the cacophony of voices and music, I closed my eyes and wished the revelers well, and while thinking back on parties I’d known, fell back to sleep. My dreams were good ones: a little crazy, accompanied by a sweet backbeat.