Hard of Hearing

I have never really given much thought to ears. Strange funnel-like objects that look like the designer got bored, or just had a bit of a scribble and submitted it to Mother Nature. However, ears only do half the job (or less really) as the transfer from sound waves to something we interpret as noise sound is far more complex than simply directing the waves into our heads. The ear drum is a very sensitive bit of equipment, able to work in various extreme conditions such as being emersed in water, below freezing, and strangley can become super-sensitive the night after a skinful, while the rest of your body is still less than useless.
Loss of hearing is very frustrating. I often find myself unable to hear what is being said because there is a louder noise nearby. Traffic, running water, a washing machine (undoubtedly somebody else switched it on) or anything that makes a loud and continuous noise - all seem to have my mind distracted from the task of filtering out the garbage and working out what is being said. Invariably it is "Can you do something" or "Why haven't you done something else". Because I didn't hear you. I never believed in 'selective hearing' before, but now I think about it I guess it is possible to ignore people who are communicating with you, especially when they are saying "Can you do something" or "Why haven't you done something else". I don't conciously do it, and I am sure that at the time I hear it and reply, perhaps have a lengthy conversation, but in my brain there is little space left for storing the things that are said, so I either have to purge the useful things I like to remember (PINs, passwords, enemy locations in my current Xbox game, etc.) or I can choose to only store the dialogue in my short-term memory. And even then sometimes I ignore that choice too.
Choosing not to hear (or forgetting you have heard) is very different from not hearing. I suffer from sometimes not hearing everything, as most people do, and for those that suffer from this constantly certain communication mediums can become very difficult - namely telephones. This is the sort of thing you can expect from a telephone conversation with someone who is hard of hearing:
"Hi Grandma."
"Hello ducky. What can I get you for Christmas?"
"I'd like some balti dishes."
"Some what dear?"
"Balti dishes."
"Can you spell it?"
"B-A-L-T-I."
"Oh Balti. Right you are."
I'm sure everyone has a similar conversation on the phone at some point, maybe with someone in a noisy area or a bad line. It happens. In this instance though, I should have gone on to spell out the second word, as a few days and several shop assistants later, my Grandma was unable to find any 'Balti scissors'. A pity, they would have been fantastic.

Sunrise is for nature, not for me

It seems like my life is largely spent working. I don't just mean my occupation, either. Most weekends I can be found doing some form of DIY, or household chores, or worse still - SHOPPING. It is all Hell. I don't consider any of these activities to be exciting, and more often than not when I think about the prospect of my required attendance or participation I release an internal sigh of desperation.
The worst bit is the morning. I am not a morning person, which is aptly named as all I do is mourn the loss of the slumber from which I have been unfairly torn. Generally my mornings start with an almost impossible task of removing myself from my bed - infintiely more difficult in winter when the air temperature outside my duvet-cocoon has plummetted into what feels like negative numbers. Once I have finally accomplished that, I somehow manage to shuffle through the preperations for the day - most of my body is functioning on autopilot as my brain is still in bed enjoying a lay-in.
Curiously, it is about an hour after rising that the grey matter sparks into life - while I am driving to work. It is a common occurence for me to suddenly think Did I remember to bring my work pass? and more spookily I find that I did, but I have no recolection of conciously picking it up. Worse still, I struggle to recall the beginning of my journey - so my mind is quite content in letting the rest of me control an automobile before it decides to wake up.
Coffee is the obvious answer, and in previous years it has been an instant injection of alertness for the mush in my bonce, but sadly it seems to have built up a resistance to caffienne so the morning cuppa doesn't start working until my brain wants it to. Quite cruel really, that I am at the mercy of my own mind. Waking up is just not something that I can do quickly, and I pity anyone who prematurely jolts me into the hostility of an early morning - I am not a pleasure to be with or to look at.

Peter

"Listen to me, shithead: I was here first. You can sod off," Peter said, straightening his back to make himself as tall as possible. Every muscle in his body was tense, and he was staring straight into the eyes of the man in front of him. The atmosphere was thick with aggression, as if the smallest spark would send the whole place up in a fiery explosion of hatred.
"You what?"
"You heard me. Get lost."
Car engines ticked over around them, giving their stand-off an unnecessary growl to fuel the rising testosterone levels as both men squared up to each other. Onlookers stopped to watch, unable to free themselves of their inquisitive paralysis. Nobody dared make a sound or sudden movement, fearing the tempers of the two men would be focussed on them instead.
Peter could feel the heat radiating from the man in front of him. His eyes were bloodshot, and he was baring his teeth. lines of saliva stretched out from his lips with every angry breath he exhaled. His body was trembling with rage, his leathery skin pulled taught across his muscular frame. His bulk was greater than Peter's, and his muscle-to-fat ratio was easily double his own. This meathead was obviously used to having his own way, or using his strength to make sure he got it anyway.
"Call me shithead again, and I'll shatter your jaw. Now, if you ain't gonna move your car, I'll move it for you."
Peter looked at him. If he was bluffing, he was good. Not a good man to play poker against; he could either make you fold and win, or lose and tear your arms from your body and bash you over your head with them. How had he got into this situation? Saturdays were always busy, and parking is a nightmare in the town centre, but violence before 10am? Foolish. A fool's errand. Not even something that he was prone to doing, probably hadn't been in a fight since his early years at school, and even then the fight was more like a slapping contest. No, this was not the way he wanted to behave, and he certainly didn't want to antagonise the grunting beast before him. Just back away, get in your car and try to find another space, he thought. You can collect your dignity another day. As the thought formed in his head, he heard a sound that both surprised him and filled him with fear. Surprise because it was his own voice, and fear because he heard himself say aloud:
"Shithead."
Time slowed as fury rippled through the man's body. He gritted his teeth, coiled his arm, and threw a punch with the force of a runaway train. He connected with Peter's jaw, sending him staggering backwards while his eyes rolled into his skull. The impact made a sound like a thunderclap, which seemed to silence the sound of the nearby traffic as if it really was sent down from the heavens.
Peter's backward fall was broken by the bonnet of his car. His vision swam for a second, but the blurring browns and greys of the concrete multi-storey car park disappeared as the grinning face of his foe filled his view. One oversized fist had him by the collar, the other was loaded for another strike. Grimacing from the first punch, and anticipating the fulfillment of the shattered-jaw prophecy, Peter scrunched up his eyes and waited for the inevitable. Instead, he felt the grip at his neck loosen, and opened his eyes to see another man pulling his attacker away from him.
This new contender was dressed from head to toe in wrestling gear. He had bright red knee-high lace-up boots, a golden leotard emblazoned with red and yellow flames, and a matching mask that covered his head save for the mandatory eye and mouth holes. Gone was Peter's fear, and even the pain in his face, both replaced by the hilarity of his attacker being carted off by a comic book character.
Peter and the previously apprehensive audience watched in perverse excitement as the wrestler dragged his victim in a rear headlock while he struggled to get free. He just couldn't get a foothold to shrug off this new threat, meanwhile his face was turning crimson as the blood in his head was trapped by the wrestler's burly arm.
"Stop it!" shrieked a nearby woman, rushing over to the two men still in their savage embrace. Neither paid her any attention, until she slapped the wrestler in the face. With that, he dropped the other man who fell to the floor wheezing, his face slowly returning to it's original hue.
"Violence will not be tolerated," said the wrestler with a Mexican accent.
"And who are you to stop it?" the woman asked.
"I am The Luchador!"
"You have to be kidding me," said the initial fight-starter as he regained his composure. "You lot into crime fighting now? Who are they sending to deal with bank robbers, Hulk Hogan?"
A few members of the gathered crowd giggled, and even Peter had to stifle a laugh.
"I am here to protect the innocent, to offer assistance to the needy, to-"
"I'm not needy!" Peter shouted, immediately wishing he hadn't as pain shot through his jaw.
"You see? Your not needed here, and you look stupid to boot. If anyone is a shithead, it's you." He turned to Peter, who was gingerly stroking his bruised cheek. "Sorry about the thump I gave you, I guess shopping just puts me in a bad mood."
"No worries, I had it coming. I shouldn't have called you that. Didn't know you had a bowling ball for a fist! You can have the space, by the way."
"Cheers mate. Go put some ice on that."
The men went their separate ways, instantly forgetting about The Luchador, who had disappeared as quickly and mysteriously as he had arrived.