Fridge therapy III

Our Korean exchange student is performing exorcist in the garage. I don’t know for sure, but that’s what it sounds like. He is singing. The coffee on my desk upstairs is vibrating. I can follow neither his lyrics nor the tune – the key is his own creation. He is putting a lot of heart into this, and with every deep breath the song sounds more like a washing machine on high spin cycle.

Now, I realize that what he is doing is therapy. His version of me downing a glass of wine or putting my cold hands on my husband’s stomach. He is stuck with us for a year – he can’t help it. I get it.

But the corporate copy I’m trying to write is not getting anywhere. Uninspired by his performance, it has seized to shape itself into complex sentences about the concepts I have to look up on Wikipedia. It has given up and slammed the door on me. Its musical ear has curled up and died.

That leaves me to also engage in therapy, even though my body parts are warning me that a couple more sessions, and I’ll be shopping for new jeans. But you have to sacrifice for the greater good. Your clients depend on you. They don’t care that you type with greasy fingers and that crumbs get stuck in your keyboard. They don’t have to know about you licking butter off the tip of the knife and spooning jam from the jar into your mouth.

As long as no one catches me typing “food” instead of “good”…


About annahuddleston

Business and travel writer based in Las Vegas.
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2 Responses to Fridge therapy III

  1. Maybe if you had a plate of carrot sticks beside you, you’d snack on them instead of jam 🙂

    That’s what I do when I know I’m about to embark on something that requires snacking. Of course, lately that’s all out the window seeing as I ate mochi for breakfast lunch and dinner.

    • breadnbutter69 says:

      see that’s my point! if i have mochi in the house (or something equally irresistible) there’s no point fighting it… I just tell myself I’ll be fat and beautiful 🙂

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