I’m sitting in the basement of the house I grew up in. This is where my office space is; I do all my work from a table with my computer on it where I’m surrounded by instruments. It’s generally pretty quiet down here as not much noise from outside the house can be heard from where I am, and it’s a quiet suburban neighborhood. But if I pay really close attention, behind me I can hear the aery hum of the space heater I’ve turned. From the walls, I hear the vibrations of the TV upstairs- my parents like to always have the news on, no matter how depressing it gets. Every so often, I can also hear water slosh down the plumbing from upstairs and a mysterious creak from an unknown source in the ceiling. It’s a quiet house between the three of us, but it’s these familiar sounds that make it home.
