I think very carefully before I speak and sometimes it still comes out wrong.
There’s a dripping faucet and I can’t get my mind to turn off the sound, drip, drip…
I don’t know why I just wrote out the onomatopoeia for a dripping faucet. Everyone knows what a dripping faucet sounds like. Dripping faucets sound the same all over the world. All dripping faucets sound alike. Beisdes, ‘drip’ isn’t really an onomatopoeia at all; it’s a verb. The faucet is dripping. A more accurate description of the sound the dripping faucet makes would be ‘plink, plink.’ “The dripping faucet sounds as though it is dripping,” is essentially what I just said.
When I was in middle school I didn’t wash my hair; I took plenty of showers and I didn’t smell, I just always put my hair in a shower cap before washing
Like, what’s even the point? it takes more time to shove 15 centimeters of hair into a shower cap than it does to work in some shampoo-
I don’t know the metric system; I have no idea how long 15 centimeters is. I am American and it is my fate to never know how long 15 centimeters is, or how many miles is a kilometre. I say it’s because I am American but really I am just lazy.
I can never fall asleep. It’s 2:44 a.m. when I’m writing this. I bet you could tell. But you’re too polite to say anything.
I’m too nice. I befriend the misfits and other lumps of breathing flesh that no one else wants to be friends with. Then I find out why no one else wants to be friends with them (usually, they have horrible personalities and also they smell) and then I regret being so nice. Like a saint or something. That’s what I am.
I’m horrible; I say things I don’t mean. I have a lot of enemies, but I’m too nice and don’t say anything to them and they don’t know that we are my enemies. Mortal enemies. They probably think we’re friends. They are so wrong.
I’m too short. I wish I could count it as a disability. I can’t reach anything and my legs are stubby. I just want the parking decal. I hate to park so far away.
Once I was pushing a shopping cart back to the place where all of the shopping carts hang out and snigger amongst themselves after dark—the shopping cart paddock. The shopping cart stable. And I was being lazy and thought that it would be okay to not put the cart out to pasture and instead lean it against a large statue of a giant sphere. This was at a supermarket. I do not know why they had such a large statue of a giant sphere, but there it was. I leaned the cart up against it and started to walk away. The sphere was on an incline, as spheres are wont to be, but I did not know this about spheres at the time. The cart’s wheels gave way to gravity and the whole thing was yanked down the slope and started to roll into the traffic circle where people pull up their cars and make minimum-wage shopboys put all their bags away for them. There was a woman in a bright red car that looked new, and the cart chugged towards it. She screamed at me to snatch the cart but I didn’t do anything about it and just stood there like I was dumb. The cart hit her red car that looked new and probably scratched up the paintjob and left a dent. I ran back into the store and pretended to look at comics while my mind raced. Is shopping cart negligence a crime? Could I be arrested for letting my cart roam free? I worried about it this for months. I also slept with the lights on because I was afraid of Bruce Willis’ ghost coming to haunt me. I was ten years old and The Sixth Sense had just come out. My emotions were very fragile.
Most of all, even now, while I sit in bed, at 2:57 a.m. Eastern Standard Time, I am still thinking about the day when I was ten and let my shopping cart ding up a lady’s red car that looked new and then after went home and slept with all the lights on.