Snot

I don’t want to write about snot. I don’t want to write about the mucus that comes out of ones facial orifice. I don’t care about boogers or green things dangling by nose hairs. I don’t.

But I’m writing about snot. I’m writing about snot because I don’t want to write about snot but there could be a lot of worse things that could have been required of me. Snot pours out of my nostrils when I cry really heavily. It runs down my face in salty slime and I rub it on the back of my sleeve or use the neckline of my t-shirt to collect a mass amount of snot with a hard squeeze. This happens to me when I don’t want to walk somewhere to get a tissue with snot running down my face, touching my lips with its slick fingers, making me feel like a snot-nosed baby.

Some have discovered the joy of nose picking. I do this away from prying eyes. Not as a hobby, but rather, as a release from the dried snot that lodges itself in your nose, against the wall. Sometimes you have to dig and, deny it if you will, I know that all of us dig into the booger treasure that rarely runs dry.

I do notice when my boogers are in short supply. It isn’t something I think about often, but rather it is something that I think about when my nose bleeds a little bit. It is then that I realize just how dry my nose truly is. I will wonder of the lack of boogers but not really think about it much, just kind of wishing that the snot would return a little to lubricate my nose with its slime.

I really notice my snot when I have a cold. It’s either stuffy and impenetrable or it’s runny and my nose becomes red with embarrassment…or irritation…whichever. It is then that I truly despise snot for unlike the moments of weeping snot faucet, I am locked up in a snot factory when I’m sick. No matter how much you blow the little boogers out, there are always enough to clog you right up again, always enough to continue the steady march out of your nose and down your face.

No, I don’t want to write about snot. I have to say that I find it rather unladylike to do so. I also have to say that I didn’t find the writing too wonderful and that I don’t even know if I really care for the end result. I don’t think enough about snot to make some pivotal piece of writing that would make people laugh. I should direct my efforts to make the readers cry, simply so they can enjoy the rush of snot streaming out of their nose, creating a slipper waterslide for their dead skin cells that run off in the river of snot.

And there is my page long (though not quite a page) indecent writing on snot…and I must thank the writer for not choosing a different, foul topic than snot.










May 4, 2009 Snot Exercise page 6