Freewriting

My shower is a torture device. Never mind that the water either comes out snow or boiling. Or that my backpack is more spacious. It’s the noise.

That only sounds stupid if you don’t know what I mean. But I guess if you knew what I meant, then it would be pointless to even talk about the shower because we both know already.

It isn’t any particular noise. It’s the accumulation. The water lays a mild, deafening foundation, cut through by the rattle of the pipes that whispers of lead lining. The usual white noise of traffic is built up into a menacing echo. Every bang of a neighbor’s door or eagerly shut cupboard becomes the sound of the bathroom door opening.

And in that microscopic space where you’re already dodging hot and cold mini-missiles, your nerves get so raw that the noise becomes a second person in the room.

There, I did it twice. I am afraid of someone walking in on me in the shower.

And isn’t that pathetic?

…I thought that was pretty funny, but the weird first person present tense is kind of precluding.

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