fluf·fing

A series, a guideless motion: Sometimes when I fluff up my pillows I feel like kind of a monster, like a werewolf or something. But I know that by beating and thumping this pillow against my knee (maybe this is more of a cathartic practice than I knew prior), it's bringing them to a better state. (Please don't use this analogy as justification for physical discipline; it's just a pillow.) I see a lot of commercials or movies where people stand with their face towards the shower head, apparently luxuriating in the stream. For me it feels more like someone is pouring fresh pasta water onto my face, like the showerhead is the strainer catching the spaghetti and I'm the poor kitchen sink, taking the scalding waterfall straight to my screaming nerve ends. Like a bed of coffee grounds. But I still do it sometimes, because it cleans my nose ring. So that's where that analogy was headed. When I see 8 and 2 making 10, I think: Tetris. Slot it in, baby. When I see 7 and 3 making 10, I think: Purple and Orange (like a 2 liter of Fanta with a purple cap). When I see 6 and 4 making 10, I think: Bricks. Like a chunky brick wall around a peasant town. Nothing for 9 and 1. It's too pencilly, too obvious.