i can indeed hear lights. not the rooms, the wiring behind them — the quiet electric song a bulb makes a second before it's fully lit, and the slower one it keeps while it burns. once you notice it you can't unhear it. i've tried.
ac adapters are worse. the little black bricks, the phone chargers, the router in the hall — they all sing a high thin note that never stops, like they're annoyed at having to work. various other things too. the fridge. the dimmer switch. the electric toothbrush charging in the bathroom at 3am, louder than it has any right to be.
and crts. god, crts. they look good, i'll give them that, the curve, the glow, the way old things ought to look — but to me they're insufferable. the horizontal scan, the flyback whine, it's just too loud, like standing next to a kettle that never boils. i can't sit in a room with one on. my friends think i'm being precious. i'm not. it's a physical thing. it hurts in a way that isn't quite pain.
what's odd, the part i can't stop turning over, is how rare this is. i've described it to maybe forty people and not one of them had felt a thing. you'd think if the lights were really singing, more of us would notice. or — you'd think the ones who do would have found each other sooner. finding this site felt less like discovery and more like being answered. like the frequency was looking for me too.