Experiment 27 ½: Rain and Washing Machines

After many experiments, I have officially concluded that, in fact, these are the sounds of the rain and washing machines as best can be represented by human speech!

Rain

1. Shlip-Splop

2. Blink-Tink

3. Vavoom

4. Pink-Plink

5. Stop-Slop

6. Crinkle-Crack

Washing Machine

1. Shimy-Shake

2. Sixes

3. Broth

4. Viscous

5. Seepage

6. Worcestershire

 

 

26 Sick Days

Dear Professor,
I am unable to make it to class today because it is raining, and I cannot afford the proper shoes.

Dear Professor,
I did not attend class because your comments were hurtful. I hope to complete the course and attain the necessary credits from afar.

Dear Professor,
I didn’t want to disappoint you because I had nothing today.

Dear Professor,
I worked 45+ hours this week, my computer crashed, could only afford coffee, not dinner, and I am currently in the library salvaging what is left of my paper. I will take the absence but I cannot afford the “F.”

Dear Professor,
I cannot function today.

Dear Professor,
I decided to drive out to the sand dunes instead. It was beautiful, and I needed it.

Dear Professor,
I cannot make it to class today because I have been absorbed into a parallel dimension. I will resume my normal Earthly duties after page 379.

Dear Professor,
I drink too much for any human being.

Dear Professor,
I stayed in bed all day listening and watching the rain. I imagined it was cleansing me of all this.

Dear Professor,
They have taken over my thoughts, my computer. Even now, these words are not my own. How did you expect me to write this existential paper on linguistics? The creation of it, in and of itself, is–

Dear Professor,
I was going to be late because I had to move my car before it got ticketed. But, I got a ticket anyway, and then had to leave, to go to work, to pay off the ticket. I should also let you know I’ll be missing the next couple class sessions as well.

Dear Professor,
I am sick. I cannot physically contort my body into a driving position today. I am not sure what is wrong. I hope to make it to the doctor sometime this week.

Dear Professor,
I’d like to see where this morning takes me.

Dear Professor,
I really am a good student. I swear! I’m just not a very good adult.

Dear Professor,
I had two left. Figured I’d use them before the end of the semester.

Dear Professor,
I am student #30799. My desk coordinates are 3rd latitude, 4th longitude, sometimes 5th. Unless #4025 is there. god i hate #4025.

Dear Professor,
I am doing laundry. Yes. All of it.

Dear Professor,
I have nothing left to learn from you, so I have chosen to stay home and watching mindless television instead.

Dear Professor,
I would like to discuss my final grade with you. When are your office hours?

Dear Professor,
I am sorry for missing class as I had a family emergency. I can receive up to three absences in your class, and I get three days of bereavement from work. I’m sorry for the inconvenience. I’ll be in class on Monday.

Dear Professor,
I don’t belong here. I need a day to remind myself why I am.

Dear Professor,
We lost my grandmother.

Dear Professor,
Really? How much longer are we gunna do this? Can’t we just be done already? You know that

Dear Professor,
I know I am near the end but I just can’t. I’m too afraid of being wrong.

Dear Professor,
Please disregard the previous email. I don’t know what the hell I was thinking. I’m finally done. I’m intellectually unbound.

Dear Professor,
The email address you entered couldn’t be found. Please check the recipient’s email address and try to resend the message. If the problem continues, please contact your helpdesk.

The following organization rejected your message: aspmx.l.athenaeum.edu.

Reprieve

blush in an impasse

eyes like sunbursts

touch fire serenity

spirit of dreams

bright cockade of affection

leave naked prints

stabbed panic

healing doll eyes &

polished scars.

Hello. Goodbye. Go fuck yourself.

Hello. Goodbye. Go fuck yourself beautiful. I want to tell you nothing. But I want you to feel something. The shame of being beautiful-ugly, fat-fit, hairy-exotic-homely fuck. Fuck you inevitable, fuck you future, fuck you destiny, (How many more times can I say fuck? I don’t fucking know.) The darkest part of myself is the one that feels. That goddamn, emotional bitch.

My mind is a hot mess, pungent, strong, and smelling like grandma on a hot day. Smelling of tight silk and body odor. Keep it together. People depend on your confidence, but it’s neuroticism. They tell me I am so thoughtful. A blessed curse because I cannot help but think of everything. I am overly observant and wildly underspoken. I do not let people see my fear when I have a PTSD panic attack at 3:02 A.M. having to check, once again, all the locks on my doors and windows. People do not see my knuckles whitten as I sit in traffic realizing that I forgot to put my shoes away in their designated location, and that I will be thinking about it all day. And that, I will march straight to my shoes when I cross my threshold at home without stopping to show affection to the one I love. People don’t see the serenity and peace I feel, the zen like mastery of emptiness, when my robotic  vacuum removes all the tiny, singular strands of hair that wedge between my toes, and stick to the soles of my feet, a reminder that my house is not clean enough

not clean enough

never clean enough

not clean enough

People do not see that I am scarred by a vulnerability once exposed
a naked soul that must always be clothed
because it is a messy thing,
psychotic and crazy,
and you won’t be the first to witness the wound under this armor
and you are not going to like it
because it still hasn’t healed quite right.