I’ve always been sensitive to noise. Surround me with too much noise and I cannot hear you. Blare your phone and you physically torture me, especially if your phone makes a high-pitched, whining sound…something about the electrical tone is agonizing. More than one meal out has been ruined by other customers, not bothering with ear buds or anything else which keeps the noise private.
On the flip side, I can really enjoy music and songs on a visceral level. Certain pieces uplift me to an almost orgasmic ecstacy, hearing the pulse of their beat within my ear drums.
Pleasurable sounds feel like magic, coursing through my body, lifting me higher and higher.
I’ve tried not to waste this sensitivity to sound in my writing. I’ve had characters who flinch at particularly sharp or flat laughter, yet are overcome by a soothing, musical voice.
What about you, dear reader? Ever been in escstacy or agony, due to the sounds around you? Did the experience creep its way into story, poetry, or a biographical rant?