Kick the Amp Over

“Do we have any more rice left I called you to ask but you didn’t pick up and I would’ve picked some up at the store on my way back but I didn’t know if we already had some and I didn’t want to get more if we had some,” Mary spouted off frantically, slamming the front door behind her and racing towards the kitchen, obnoxiously large purse hanging off of her black pants suit.

I sat on a leather recliner staring at my reflection in our ’80s TV set that I haven’t willingly turned on in weeks, plucking away aimlessly at my banjo, creating disjointed, fragmented dissonance. This $700 banjo is the only perk that has come from the tax breaks I’ve had the past couple years.

“Are you even playing anything or are you just hitting strings?” Mary asked me as she looked through the refrigerator.

I paused for far too long before saying “it’s bluegrass” in a dryly sarcastic manner, aware that she wouldn’t know that I was being a smart ass.

“Well it sounds stupid no matter what it is, are you even going to learn how to play that thing or is it just another waste of money?” she added, also unaware of the fact that I’ve been able to play for years. Also unaware of the fact that I’m completely satisfied out of my banjo proficiency. Also unaware of the fact that even messing around with it brings me more entertainment than anything else around me.

I ignored her and continued hitting random strings trying to tune out everything around me by losing myself staring into a powerless TV set.

This is why I volunteered to work nights.

There’s something wrong when you can easily spend hours and hours without thinking coherent thoughts. Some external stimuli that cause you to shut down and even though you hate inaction you don’t even realize or care that you’re literally doing nothing.

Two years of marriage, and this banjo is all I have to show for it.