No matter what I did to escape the noise it followed me, the babbling followed me from room to room, it followed me outside, it followed my inner monologue with a perfection, whenever I was comfortable or enjoying something on any level at all she would disperse it immediately. A three minute story of mine would get cut off right at 2:58, right at the punchline, every time. It's like she's a machine built to suck the life out of any creature of any species. She's in there surrounded by a solid wall of cats, trying to sell all her stuff on Ebay, wired on pain killers and meth.
