ARGH!

Oh. My. Lord.

You know how people refer to high school students as little shits? Yeah, well, I'm there. And I feel really guilty about it -- I do. I know they're not at fault. But, damnit, I need someone to blame.

Curses, Band Camp, you hateful, hateful coterie. You with your side lawn practices and unfathomable volume. You with your pulsing beats that shake the walls of my previously peaceful home.

Does the metronome have to be so hellishly loud and blindlingly persistent?

The irony being that even with the *twang twang twang* of said time-keeper throbbing in my brain the precussion section is still offbeat.

Can we just cut our losses and unplug it? For my sanity?

Pretty please with a tuba on top?

(ETA: Um, except Thaddeus. You are exempt. Sadly, your friends are not.)