Someone Please Surprise Me
Someone please surprise me, some days I feel like I’ve seen it all and I know that’s not true; maybe I’ve seen it ‘a’ or ‘l’ or even ‘ll’ — and that’s generous — but certainly there’s more than that. I’m exhausted by the act of waking up and knowing exactly what to expect and from whom; I’m tired of water with lemon and lemonade and Arnold Palmers, can’t we invent something new? I’m bored with folding my sheets in this square, particular manner; I’m tired of the proper way to load dishes in the washer and tired of sleeping in my own bed; someone please surprise me. I want every name in my cell phone to change, just so I can pretend I don’t know who and what is reaching out; I want to be called by a thing I don’t know yet. I want to see someone new and not know how to describe it, I want to be left speechless so I don’t have to explain. I want to feel something that’s foreign to the touch, even if it hurts, I guess. I want to look in the mirror and see something else; I want a shocking reflection. I’m tired of knowing what every type of weather is like, I wish there were different ways to talk about the sky like bulbous or friction or indecisive, I don’t know. Maybe I should switch the drawer that holds my pants with the drawer that holds my shirts, maybe that will temporarily throw me off guard. I need something to make me think again, even if it’s only for a second, I want to be thrown off. I want someone whose eyes are a new shade of blue, is that possible? I want someone I already know to prove that people can change, will change, are changing. Please change me. I want to surprise myself.
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Bonus points if you actually use different voices/accents for the different people in the imaginary conversation. That is a prestigious level of shower insanity.
I had a number of other essays I wanted to write tonight. There were other topics that deserved attention, essays I humbly felt might shed light on the human condition, on the difficulties and odd experiences we all deal with on a daily basis. But here I am, writing a defense of pubic hair.
6. The Usual Suspects
When your audience is this big, how can you really “know” it?