The Snork

Lurking in the Cracks of your Soul

Sometimes The Snork was grateful it didn’t have a conscience, it just had its purpose. Its job was to keep her safe in the way only it knew how. Objectively, it knew there were less destructive ways to do it, but its purpose drove it to follow the steps it was created to take. Morality didn’t play into it. The Snork was perfectly content to exist on stimulus and response and let everything play through on instinct.

She journaled in the morning which was one of the few times she was deaf to The Snork. Over the course of years, she had trained herself to use her journaling time to challenge the sometimes brutal lessons The Snork had imposed which required engaging her selective listening. It didn’t matter. The Snork had infinite patience. It bided its time until circumstances were ripe to strike.

Artwork provided by AR Clark

It smiled to see she was setting down her pen and getting ready to shower. It left her alone while she went through the process of sudsing, rinsing, and moisturizing. Then, she took off her robe and glanced at her reflection in the mirror.

The Snork pounced.

Gross. What a saggy, lumpy melted candle you are. You sure are lucky push up bras are a thing, given those sad little droopy pancake boobies. Hard to believe you were ever in shape enough to earn your black belt or ridiculous enough to be in a belly dance troupe. Those people must really have felt bad for you.

The Snork could feel the familiar disgust and shame trample the calm demeanor she had managed to scribble into existence. It kept going.

And holy WOW your thighs are just hideous. Good thing you’re too old to wear short skirts because you’d have to duct tape those saggy cottage cheese balloons to keep them from scaring everyone. No amount of nail polish or cuticle trimming would make those nasty hooves something that should be seen in the light of day, either.

She reacted the way she always did; let the shame and disgust wash over her and then shut down emotions and developed a plan to trim her caloric intake. If she couldn’t look good naked, at least she could try to make her sags, bags, lumps, and rolls smaller. She put on a power dress, one that made her feel and hopefully look professional. She might be a fright without clothes on, but with drapery, her shape was mostly decent.

Take away the padded bra, and you’d be mistaken for a boy.

She added a belt to accent her waist in response. The Snork had to give her credit for the cope. She turned on some music to flush out the thoughts and poured her third ginormous cup of coffee into her travel mug. Distraction and caffeination was the key to drowning out The Snork until she got to the office and put together an impossible list of to-dos to keep her adrenaline kicking. Her go-to move was to push herself so hard by the end of her shift she’d be too tired to care what The Snork had to say. The Snork sat forward in anticipation, welcoming the challenge of maximizing its impact.

She got to the office and started completing the opening checklist, making sure to prep everyone else’s massage room. The Snork saw an opportunity to tap the first of many wedges in the crack of her veneer.

You have to work extra hard to prove that you deserve to be part of the team. Everyone else knows so much and their clients would move to the moon for them. You’re holding your own for now, but eventually they’re going to figure out you don’t know what the hell you’re talking about. You may have graduated with honors, passed the national exam, and gotten board certified, but just because you studied like a fiend and tested well, doesn’t mean you have any actual knowledge.

She took a big gulp of coffee and looked through her client list, so she could review her treatment plan and decide if any new insights from the past few weeks would make sense to incorporate. The Snork smiled to see how that just kicked up her imposter syndrome response. She set aside her client files and sat back to hold her warm travel mug in her hands.

“At least tonight I get to see the crew.” She said out loud. Every week she got together with a group of friends for dinner. It was always a boon for her because it made her feel connected and human, and it gave her the slightest hope that every second of her life didn’t have to be a performance. It seemed like The Snork should see weekly dinner as a threat, but there was a huge opportunity for success there too. It was always able to torment her for days after the fact, questioning what she wore or said or ate. There were seemingly endless opportunities to poke and pick until her stomach acid roiled.

She moved through her day, and her clients expressed their gratitude and appreciation for her skill. She had a habit of spending the entire massage session assuming her client was less than satisfied. It never failed to surprise her when they came out saying “you have magic hands” or “my chiropractor says you’re a miracle worker.” The Snork jabbed at every compliment with responses.

What are they supposed to say? They’re paying you for a service. You’re mediocre enough that they can justify their appointments and make themselves feel better for helping you because you’re so pathetic.

She threw herself into her work harder, and The Snork enjoyed the secondary win; she exhausted herself so much with her pursuit of perfection, it made the rest of its job easy. Finally, her shift was over. She moved through the process of shutting down the office as her social anxiety started kicking in. She considered what she would wear, how she would put on her make up and do her hair. The prospect of propping herself up with various touch-ups and disguises gave her a fleeting sense of hope that lasted the 15 minutes it took her to get ready. The results weren’t as dramatic as she had hoped. The Snork was prepping a jab, but it sensed that her wall had gone up. She had reached the sweet spot of combined physical and mental exhaustion that led her to deaden her response to impulses.

She decided to go to the restaurant a little early and treat herself to a drink at the bar. The Snork’s alarm bells went off as she drove. She had been trying a new approach lately that would be a serious threat if she practiced enough. Instead of completely shutting down, she had started catching herself just before and asking why she was closing herself off. The Snork had to admit she wasn’t a stupid person, and after decades upon decades of doing the same dance, she realized shutting down wasn’t doing any good and started questioning the accuracy of The Snork’s statements. That questioning processed in the background as she listened to the music and tried to shift her mindset from performing to simply existing. The Snork knew it was in trouble as she parked the car and made her way to the bar, trying to decide if she wanted an amber beer or a glass of wine. She settled onto a barstool, and ordered a beer because the wine sounded good, but maybe too good. The bartender set the glass in front of her. She took her first sip and sat back, after reaching for a stir straw to give her hands a way to stay busy.

She sat back and surveyed the room. The bar was in the same area as the dining room. It was a popular place, so there were already several full tables and as many stools being taken up by patrons. She tried to take a step back in her head and view everyone objectively instead of doing a hyper-critical comparison of how she measured up to everyone else. Everyone was different, and that difference made them special and interesting in their own right. Wasn’t it possible the same applied to her? There were people of all shapes and sizes. None of them would make the cut as a model, but they were all attractive in their own way. Their smiles brought out their eyes. The intent they paid the people they were talking to made their compassionate nature obvious. Wrinkles showed where smiles had lived. Loose skin and waggles were a testament to the many hours they had used their body to move through their daily lives and the lives of others.

She took another sip of her beer and slowly turned her glass in a circle as she overheard some of the conversations taking place around her. Discussions of broken hearts, struggles at work, and funny anecdotes about the hidden ridiculousness in everyday life circulated. The words painted a picture of people who were doing their best to get through life just like everyone else. Every story was different yet somehow united everyone as elements of the human condition. These, too, made each beautiful and interesting and somehow sacred in their own right. The Snork decided it would take a chance on casting a net before she was too far out of reach.

That's true of them, but not you. You’re worse than them. You’re mediocre at best. Your only virtue is what you do for others. Who you are doesn’t matter.

The net almost ensared her. Just then, she looked up, and the first member of her crew arrived. Her friend met her with a huge smile and hopped onto the stool next to her. Appreciation flowed out of her friend’s smile and knocked The Snork’s net away with a powerful swing. The ladies settled into their seats and talked about their days in the open, authentic way that’s possible only between true friends. The Snork retreated, knowing it would be some time before it would have the chance to make an impact.