Creativity Magazine

Confessions from the Shower

By Heddigoodrich

Confessions from the shower

Photo borrowed from https://dengarden.com/

I haven’t written lately but I think of you always, especially in the shower. I have conversations with you in my head, so many fragments of thoughts and confessions to share with you.
Non ti scrivo ma ti penso sempre, soprattutto sotto la doccia. Faccio conversazioni con te nella mia mente, e ho tanti frammenti di pensieri, tante confessioni, da condividere con te.
I haven’t written you much because I’ve been writing too much. Since having the brilliant idea to translate/rewrite my manuscript in Italian, I’ve stayed up many nights with my face lit by a computer screen. A sort of tanning bed that, however, still leaves me looking as white as a vampire. I’ve turned into a collector of phrases, a keen student of the subjective, a living and breathing thesaurus, a health fanatic of punctuation. I figure that I’ll have plenty of time to sleep after I’m dead. It’s an unsustainably nutty phase in which I love words almost as much as my kids, and I’d throw myself into a stormy sea to save them, if it weren’t for the fact that if I die I won’t be able to finish my book.
Non ti scrivo perché scrivo troppo. Da quando ho preso la decisione geniale di tradurre/riscrivere il mio libro inedito in italiano, passo lunghe nottate con la faccia illuminata dal computer. Mi faccio la lampada di parole, eppure ho la faccia esangue di un vampiro. Sono diventata un collezionista di frasi, una studentessa volenterosa del congiuntivo, un dizionario vivente di sinonimi, un salutista della punteggiatura. Ragiono che avrò tanto tempo per dormire dopo la morte. È un periodo dai ritmi insostenibili in cui adoro le parole quasi quanto i miei figli, e mi getterei pure in un mare tempestoso per salvarle, se non fosse per il fatto che se muoio non riuscirò a finire il libro. Un casino.
I haven’t written you because I don’t know where to start. The thoughts that I send you telepathically in the shower don’t lend themselves easily to words. They are lightbulbs, epiphanies, feelings, fantasies. Or sometimes thoughts that are shameless or all wrong or off the topic. They are tiny and they sparkle like raindrops, little whirlpools of thoughts that form freely in a stream of consciousness. I’d like to catch them but there are so many, they come one after the other and melt into each other. Confessions that I just let slip away down the shower drain.
Non ti scrivo perché non so dove cominciare. I pensieri che ti trasmetto telepaticamente nella doccia non si traducono facilmente in parole. Sono illuminazioni, epifanie, sensazioni, fantasie. Oppure pensieri sfacciati, sbagliati, fuori tema. Sono piccoli e scintillanti come gocce di pioggia, mulinelli di pensieri che girano a ruota libera in un flusso di coscienza. Vorrei afferrarli ma sono tanti, cadono uno dopo l’altro, si sciolgono. Tutte confessioni che lascio scivolare via per lo scarico della doccia.
It’s not you, it’s me. The problem, I can see now, is thinking that I have to order my thoughts before presenting them to you, to take you on a narrative that goes full circle, to entertain you or give you some sort of insight. But the more I organize my own book, the more my shower confessions become scattered, like many little exploding stars. I’d like to learn to accept them for what they are, value them, tell you about them. I’d like to learn how to drop a comma now and again, and then get into it to the point where I’m dropping commas behind me like a trail of crumbs to find my way home.
Non sei tu, sono io. Il problema, ho capito, sta nel pensare di dover ordinare i miei pensieri prima di presentarteli, di tracciarti un percorso che ritorna al punto di partenza, di farti per forza divertire o riflettere. Ma più metto ordine al mio libro di notte, e più le confessioni sotto la doccia mi arrivano caotiche, come piccole esplosioni stellari. Voglio imparare ad accettarle così come sono, valorizzarle, comunicartele. Voglio imparare a tralasciare qualche virgola ogni tanto, a prenderci gusto al punto di lasciare dietro di me una scia di virgole come briciole per ritrovare la strada di casa.
Forgive me. I love you. I’ll write more often, even if they are only fragments – disconnected thoughts frayed at the edges, too hoity-toity or childish, without any humor or nutritional value. Bear with me, you know what I’m like.
Perdonami. Ti voglio bene. Ti scriverò più spesso, anche se sono solo frammenti – pensieri sconnessi o sfilacciati, troppo intellettualoidi o troppo infantili, privi di umorismo o di valore nutritivo. Abbi pazienza, sai come sono fatta.

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