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Random Topics, Stage 4. (Diagnosed and Treated by The Humbly Strategic Boredom-Fending Suggestions Dwelling Within The Mind Of A 15th Dimensional Guttersnipe.)
Never fear, fellow randographic typographiles, I'm familiar with your exact predicament: You naturally assumed that this was one of batmaninwuhan's delectably ingenious challenges, so you preemptively clicked on the "enter challenge" button before even reading the description, and you're just now realizing that this is naught but another filthy stinking imposter!!!! The cursor is blinking at you mockingly while you peruse the dismally inferior topics, and you're shocked, disgruntled, uninspired... but you've gone too far now. Once you click the button there's no turning back... you must enter in order to save your soul!!!!! mwahahaha... ahem. This disgustingly audacious edition of imposter topics promises to be heinously worrisome for all those concerned with trivial matters such as mental health and/or common decency... (but never trust an imposter's promise) You know the drill; one for some and none for all! or something along those squiggly lines... without further ado (yes, that's quite enough ado thank you! no more, no more ado! for crying out loud, we've had far too much ado already...if you want more ado you're out of luck.) So, without further ado (without! without I say!)) the prompts which you are forbidden and/or encouraged to write about are: 1)Echidna lactation; the lost art of nipple-less milking. 2)Zing went the strings of my cardiovascular sac. 3)Pardon my ignorance, but is the correct plural form of ignoramus "ignorami" or "ignoramuses"? 4)Oh The Grand old Duke of York, he had ten thousand (...). 5)The contents of Tim Curry's pantyhose. 6)What do you call it, when (...) 7)We're going to name her Archibald, what do you think? 8)Innovative undergarments and their impact on intergalactic space travel. 9)A delightfully misshapen aubergine and it's uncanny resemblance to (...) 10) too much ado and it's deleterious effects on random-topic enjoyment.
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Xylem
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Fuss and Feathers: what does ado mean to the body?

”He calls me a princess, all the time, but I just absolutely can not accept certain sub-par levels of quality. It can be better. And why not make it better?” Sidney whipped her hands around as she spoke, took a sigh and settled her hands again in her lap, tightly clasped.

”Ok, lets take a pause there. Notice what you are feeling. I noticed you slouched slightly when you said ‘all the time‘ — what happened there? I want you to trace that feeling in your body.”

Sidney’s therapist pressed her lips and showed an intent but soft gaze. Her measured expression was framed by a flamboyant red bob and punctuated by a pair of lime green cat-eye glasses. Her therapists name was Amina and she was a veteran therapist at the institute. Besides that, Sidney knew nothing more, despite having asked many times about her life. Session 32 and every ‘and how are YOU doing?’ had been met with a dismissive, ‘oh, well, we are here for you today, Sidney.’

Sidney tried to focus inward, prying her mind away from Aminas distracting colour choices, settling her focus in on the slump. There was a slump yes, but also a tightness; her clenching jaw and hands, her adductors gripping at her knees in a deadlock, and now that she was thinking about it she noticed her toes were curling up as well. “Actually, I notice everything is tight except my spine. My spine feels weak and lifeless.” Sidney’s eyes bulged slightly, noticing an unswept pile of red hairs and dust just below the radiator along the yellowing wall.

”Good, now I want you to follow that feeling. See where it takes your body.” Amina set the pen down and sat upright in her seat, drawing her legs in to make more space for whatever Sidney was going to do next.

“Uh, what now? Follow my spine?” Sidney looked up at her overly tattooed therapist, looking at the lime green frames and unsettling neck tat but not her eyes. She shifted in her seat, the cushions suddenly feeling like it had been stuffed instead with gravel.

Amina flicked her eyes at the clock. Just a flick. She hoped Sidney didn’t notice. “Yes, feel your spine and move your body to where you think your spine wants to go. Keep track of that feeling, princess, what does it feel like when you are witnessed and perceived as being fussy, your preferences not important but histrionic and self important, your tumult with every day life being a hassle for the people around you? What does it to to your spine? Where does your spine want to go?” Amina was almost floating above her seat now, her quadriceps bulging slightly through her cat hair dotted slacks.

Sidney tried to compute what was happening, she felt a welling of frustration spring up inside her. What on earth does her spine have to do with the fact that her husband calls her a princess? she thought about the money ahe was paying for her sessions and fought her desire to walk out the door.

What did her SPINE want to do?

It wanted to slither. Yes. It wanted to slither to the ground. Sidney’s elbows creaked open, her jaw clanked. Her knees snapped and popped as she followed her sacrum off the chair, slipping down onto that filthy floor, her new tweed skirt bunching up as her legs begrudgingly acquiesced to her spines will. To the ground. Her head rested finally, eye to eye with that hairball of dust and fluff — below the radiator where no one but her would ever see.

She wanted to scream.

Amina sensed this, “Do it, Sidney. How does it feel to let your spine take over? Show me!” Amina gripped the leather arm rests.

Sidneys eyes bulged again, then she did let it out. She screamed. It started as a crackle in her throat but soon was shaking the glass in the windows, deflocking the birds in the oak outside, turning the heads of the nurses in the halls, and finally, used up all the breath in her lungs as well as all of the tension inside of her body. She melted into the dirt and dust, indifferent to it for the first time. Her hands and feel unfurled, lotus palms and soles. For a moment she thought she was going to cry but instead she began to laugh.

Amina looked down at Sidney, unable to hold back her grin. “Oh my god, you did it!”

Therapist and client laughed together. The wall of rigidity shattered— session 32 was a breakthrough. Sidney let her fuss and bother go. Not for good. But, this moment of acceptence and relaxation became a touchstone, a reference point she could come back to when the toast was burnt, the grammar was off or the sheets were wrinkled.

(estherflowers — i love your challenges! Your writing is so smart and fun.)

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