Too many pings
Too many pings.
Each with its own signature song.
When there were two or three, my mind could absorb. That's the telephone. That's the doorbell. We knew which sound was which, and attended to the correct appliance.
Now? Every goddamn thing has a song, some quite ear-wormy, and I have no idea which thingamajoogle is demanding attention.
I walk around the room, ears cocked like a spaniel, trying to echolocate the offending songbird.
(twenty minutes later)
It was the toothbrush. It wanted to be charged. Or, it just felt neglected.