Diluvium 6: In which Noah has a Conversation with his Psychiatrist

by Jessica

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Dear Readers,

Happy Monday! Thank you to the talented Josh, of Laughter is the Best Medicine,  http://joshsuich.wordpress.com/,  for nominating me for a Liebster award. I am in the process of answering the Liebster questions, Josh, and hope to respond shortly.

In the meantime, here is the 6th installment of Diluvium for your reading enjoyment. If anyone has ever tried to find a royalty free illustration of a platypus, you will know the difficulties I faced this week, but I hope that this muddy looking blob type thing (which does seem to be a fairly accurate representation of a platypus) will suffice.

Thanks for reading, and have a wonderful week,



Excerpt from where we left off:

“Do you have any comments?” said God. “Any feedback or, I don’t know, concerns?”

But I simply could not summon the power of speech.

“Okay,” said God, “Well, I’m going to let you finish putting on your clothes now. I’ll be back before you take your next shower.”

He wasn’t kidding. Actually, He came back the next seven times I showered (He seemed to be fond of examining the manmade plumbing, which He called “fascinating”), and His plans got worse every time. I tried to stop showering. I tried to avoid the bathroom as much as possible, and even constructed a rudimentary outhouse in the backyard. But there are things in life that cannot be avoided, no matter how many weeks you go without a bath. My wife complained about the smell, but I told her that we were all going to be thoroughly cleansed soon, in the biggest bathtub the world had ever seen. 


Installment 6  
1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5

“Noah,” said my wife, a few days later, after I had recovered the power of speech but before I stopped getting the nervous shakes every time I went in the bathroom. “I’m worried about you.”

“Why’s that?” I said, rifling through my notepad. I was having a terrible time trying to keep track of all the animal species in the Arthropod phylum. You would think they could have given them simpler names, but no, they had to call them things like “arachnid” and “aranea,” when they really just meant “spider”.

“Well,” said my wife, “I can’t help noticing that you’ve been talking to yourself in the shower a lot lately.”

“You think I’ve been talking to myself?” I demanded. “What do you think I am, crazy? Of course I wasn’t talking to myself.” I returned to my notes. “I was talking to God. He shows up in the bathroom from time to time, and makes exorbitant demands.”

There was a long pause.

“I see,” said my wife, finally. “What kind of demands?”

“Well,” I sighed, “He wants me to build an ark.”

“An ark.”

“Yeah, you know, like a floating boat type of thing? Picture a giant cruise ship made of cypress wood. Only it wouldn’t be for people, it would be for animals.”


“Yeah, all types of animals. I’m supposed to round them up, actually. Actually, I’ve been meaning to ask, do you know what nationality the platypus hails from? Because I can’t find one anywhere, and I even checked the zoo.”

“You want to find a platypus.”

“Yes,” I confirmed. “Also a quetzal and a quoll, but the platypus first. I’m trying to go in alphabetical order.”

“Noah,” said my wife gently, “I think you should lie down on the sofa for a while.”

“Woman,” I snapped, “I just told you I have to track down a platypus. Do I sound like the kind of man who has time for a nap?”

“This platypus,” said my wife, after another lengthy silence. “Do you want it for a pet?”

“No,” I said. “What do you think I am, crazy?”

Apparently she did think I was crazy, because later that evening she called in a psychiatrist. This psychiatrist tried to make me lie down on the sofa, but I told him I was a man on a mission and I didn’t have time for that kind of thing. (Also, the cat was already occupying it.) So instead he just asked me to sit down for a second. I compromised by leaning slightly against the edge of the windowsill, crossing my arms and glaring at him.

“Um,” said the psychiatrist, “so I understand that you’ve been experiencing some visions lately. Do you want to talk about them?”

“The end of the world is coming,” I told him. “If I were you I wouldn’t waste time asking me about myvisions. I’d go home and think about your sins, and try to come up with a way to save yourself from eternal damnation. You won’t be able to, though,” I added, as an afterthought.

“The end of the world?” said the psychiatrist.

“Yeah,” I said, “well maybe not the end of the whole world, but the end of mankind. Most of it, anyway. There’s going to be this huge flood and everyone’s going to drown, including you.”

“I see,” said the psychiatrist. “Tell me more about this flood. Will it be a very big one?”

“Are you kidding me?” I said. “I just said it’s going to be huge. It’s going to cover the entire planet. It’s going to be the biggest form of destruction since Satan fell from grace. Bigger, even!”

“And what should we do to prepare for this flood?”

“What are you asking me for?” I said. “I can’t tell you how you should spend the final days of your life. Find a lake and learn to swim, man!”

“And if I learn to swim, will that save me?”

“No,” I told him. “You’re definitely going to die, whether you can swim or not. So are all the animals, and the plants.”

The psychiatrist told my wife that I was a grade-A schizophrenic and to increase my Omega-3 fish oil intake.

Have you ever tried swallowing a fish oil capsule? Jesus, it’s disgusting. It’s like skimming off a layer of cold salmon fat, shoving it in a plastic coating, and swallowing it. So I was forced to fill my wife in on the plan. It was probably about time to tell her anyway. There was no way she could have remained in the dark once I wrangled that puma out of the jungle, and locked it in our basement. She was bound to discover the secret one of these days. ♦

(To be continued…)


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