It’s a quarter to 11 p.m. The planes started flying again tonight at 9:15, after flying off and on for most of the day. Exhausted, after a long day, I decided to go to bed. I put in my ear plugs and read for a while until finally turning out the light, with the hope they would be finished soon.
An hour later, it was quiet.
With a sigh of relief, I removed my ear plugs hoping to get some sleep, and I did, but not for long. Twenty minutes later they returned to continue flying directly over my home.
It’s like living in a war zone. Deafening. Frightening. Painful. Now, at 11 p.m., I’m up and out of bed writing this because I don’t know what else to do. I’ve written letters to the governor, senators, representatives and Navy personnel.
I’ve attended meetings and rallies, held “postcard parties,” met with neighbors, talked, argued, listened, cajoled, laughed and cried.
All to no avail.
No one who can do anything to stop this horrible thing is listening. It is all so futile. I’ve never experienced anything so awful as the roar of Growlers flying over my house for hours at a time.
Canonized as the “sound of freedom,” in reality the jets are the sound of arrogant Navy personnel thumbing their noses in retaliation because we “unAmerican” civilians dare to question their right to destroy our lives.
Rather than serving as symbols of freedom, the Growlers represent death and destruction and the misguided use of power. My head hurts. It’s late. Time for bed. It’s almost midnight and finally quiet — I hope. But it will start all over again tomorrow, and the next day, and the next — on and on and on.