Loo Thoughts

DEAR
      Bathroom Thinkers:
           It is so freaking hard to play the guitar. Everyone lied when they said it was easy. I have been practicing like crazy! In the Christmas spirit, here's a pretty guitar version of O Holy Night. I feel like classical guitar is underrated. It's harder, but it's so beautiful.

           Poemmas now continues! Here is a very strange free-write I did in the women's restroom in university. Everyone else chose places to write that were more outside the box. I thought inside the box for once-- or rather, the cubicle, as it were. And yes, you read me right, the restroom. Washroom. Loo. Bathroom. Toilet. Yup. Enjoy:

Loo Thoughts

       Muttering to oneself, rifling through bags, dropping with a clatter. Voices ricocheting off the walls, keys dangling with a clash-- so many sounds. Chance meetings when the door is touched from both sides at once, running water dancing over all other noise. Whispered phone conversations held in the far corner, foolishly assuming tiled privacy. Chapstick running away, red-yellow-red, chased by only visible fingers, hoping it won’t go too far. Rushing feet in colorful straps shuffling, hurrying, waiting, trapping, snapping at the door.

       Then silence. But the silence isn’t really; air swirls in from high above, circular muttering. Claps and voices seep under the door, from so far away; removed. Sound reigns in this room of squares, the only place where sight is second. Monotony is torn by new arrivals, slowing down as though this is a restful place. Noses rubbed raw sniffle with abandon, feeling free to be loud among the tiles. Sweeping screechily lightly spreads, echoes spiraling through. Rips and rustles, bangs and splashes, sighs as mirrors catch someone in passing.

       Why do we feel different here? Really, we are less exposed in our carpeted halls, where footsteps make much less sound. 

With Clean Hands,

Joélle