From: ************************** <*************************@*******.com>
Date: Mon, Sep 21, 2015 at 7:56 PM
Subject: Re: This is *********** contacting *************************
To: Lily Duffy <>

Can you type this up for me?  This entire email.  Including what I am writing right now.  This is what I want it to say:
Every Wednesday, I commit suicide.
A sentence without resonance.
In the ball park.  I have no feeling for that.  Ball park. Never did I have a child.  Except Bach.  Haydn.  All that.  That's all he wanted.  A 66 year old man in utero.  My son.
Dr Reginald, I think you are all one thing.
Nevertheless, when I wrote that sentence, I felt, very briefly, dead.
Is all narrative a mode of finitude?  Discuss.
No don't.
Just -- is this an advice column?
Is this where I come to get: renewed?  Is this my basic no?
Something recently I hated was this: two white/local writers looking -- chins up -- right through me -- with what resembled -- disgust.  
I felt bad.
Because disgust is the hardest emotion or facial expression.
To un-see.
Or dislodge.
The only thing  that had changed since I last saw them was that, in my host community, I had become vocal.
In matters.
Pertaining to.
Though if you checked me.
If you really checked.
Perhaps there would be a discrepancy.
In my own conduct or speech.
And you could say, look.
What a hypocrite.
What a capital C for.
I don't feel cunt-ish at this time.
Mostly because I didn't grow up with one.
I grew up with -- I forget.
I can't remember what we called it.
Back then.
A pussy?  Perhaps that.  A pussy.
Why didn't I let my boyfriend in college go down on me?  
I shouldn't press click, Dr Reginald.
But I want to.
Just to see.
What might happen.
Can this be anonymous?
You can say: this is a local author of five books.  
She has black hair.
That's it.
If you still want to publish this, as is.
Then I accept your kindness.
If this is too much.
I also accept.
But what a relief to get it off my.
The shame I felt.
When, at the Jaipur Literary Festival.
Those two.
Looked at me.
As if I didn't.
Non-being suits no-one.
Not you, not me.
Nobody, Dr Reginald.
How much do I owe you?
Thank you for your.