I don’t normally purchase drinks packaged in plastic bottles. Environmental consciousness aside, the existence of plastic bottles, in my little everyday-codex-for-JK-behaviors-of-normalization, has the potential of becoming a great sonic distraction. For some reasons, I don’t seem to be able to put those maddeningly screaky bottles down without some off-speed Marvin Gaye’s Let’s Get It On unstoppably echoing in my head. Distraction for being normal. A quick invasion of the concept of the plasticity of these bottles very often triggers one of those profound but infuriatingly infinite conversations with myself. Distraction for being normal. Finally, the screakiness of these bottles attacks my every single nervous cell with my everyday-honorable-failure to make them as historical incipit for everyone to see. Oh, those screaky-screaky-screaky sounds. Distraction for being normal, I second that.

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