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My mind says: stop the squeaking. My hand turns it off. Seems to be working fine.

It's "challenging" in the way putting a drill in your ear is "challenging". And it's not the orchestration, song structure or lyrics that form the insurmountable barrier for me. It's when she starts singing and I begin to wonder if the washing machine is fucked.

That's how I describe myself to people, and it's never worked.

17 seconds. That's all it took.