The itch I cannot scratch
For the last week or so, I’ve had to endure an itch I can’t scratch. Not a physical one, an electronic one.
Somewhere, in the depths of my bedroom, there is something that generates a single, annoying ‘beep’. Short duration; probably less than a second in length. High pitched, although at my age that probably means less than a kilocycle. Regular, almost like a clock: every hour at 24 minutes past. Hardly alarming; nobody else has noticed it yet.
I’m sure there are questions about my pretending to be a statue with my ears “wide open”, any time I’m in the room at the approach of the moment. Because there’s the problem… how much stuff do I want to move around, when I can’t get any more directional than “somewhere in the room”?
I’ve tried; not hard enough to let it interfere with my professional life or my household duties, but the time is approaching. I’m waking during the night, in anticipation. I’m dawdling, in hope that I’ll be able to get the quadrant determined. I’m ready to ask for aid. My kids have better things to do with their lives (or so they tell me when I suggest other home-based tasks). Would they accept this as a worthy quest?
I could ignore it, but waiting for the battery to expire is hardly proactive behaviour. And what if the beep changes, or otherwise mutates into a true aural nuisance? I’m open to suggestions.
It might be a forgotten wrist watch, but what reason could there be for “24 minutes after the hour, every hour”?
