My house is old. Most of the floorboards creak. And I love this. It fits my “perpetually scratching an itch" personality to a tee. I can stop in virtually any spot in my house and rock my weight slowly, back and forth, and create something damn near musical and absolutely unique, whenever I want. My entire house is like a big pipe organ I don’t really know how to play, but I’m learning. Fifty years from now I’ll have figured it out, and I’ll be a virtuoso at floorboard-creaking, jumping wildly from board to board, playing oldies but goodies as I leap, thoroughly entertaining the dust bunnies and ghosts in the crowd as I light and bound again, madly, gloriously alone.