Wash me clean
After a rather troubling time, there is nothing else I can think of but eliminating all traces of it from my life.
Unfortunately, there is no eraser, white-out or keyboard button capable of removing negative aspects of your past: both physical and psychological.
But, there are two things that (typically) work.
The first thing is easy, although labour intensive (you should see the amount of paper trail I leave behind). Pull out the recycling box and shredder and enjoy.
The second thing is an altogether different science. Drinking it away doesn’t help. Stuffing your face won’t fill a void. Taking a few x-rated excursions will only make you feel empty.
What is it, you ask?
A shower.
Now, hear me out.
Water is a cleanser – actual and spiritual. Why do you think people are baptized in water and not vodka? True, neither will stain your clothes, but one doesn’t leave you hung over, waking up in some stranger’s bed, wondering, How the hell did I get here? and, You were so much better looking last night.
So, I pull off my clothes, jump into the shower, turn on the taps, wait for the water to warm up, and pull the knob.
The initial shock of cold water frightens me as it hits my torso, and I let out a little yelp. Soon, the temperature heats up.
Stepping underneath the showerhead, I let the water come down on my head. The sound resembles that of diving head-first into the ocean; gurgles and static.
My hands press against the tiles. I lean forward and arch my back in a semi-sprinters position. The water slowly trickles down my neck, shoulders, arms, torso, back, ass, legs and feet.
Drenched.
The noise stops any thought from developing in my head, any sounds coming from my mouth.
The water cleanses me of all history. Each drop rolls down my back and off my skin. They swirl down the drain in little circles. Ideally, I want to stay here for hours, making sure that every last miserable memory is gone.
The process is biblical and sacrilegious in thought, but logical and self-serving in practice.
I want it to go away.
Wash me of this filth. Wash me. Wash me clean.
Unfortunately, there is no eraser, white-out or keyboard button capable of removing negative aspects of your past: both physical and psychological.
But, there are two things that (typically) work.
The first thing is easy, although labour intensive (you should see the amount of paper trail I leave behind). Pull out the recycling box and shredder and enjoy.
The second thing is an altogether different science. Drinking it away doesn’t help. Stuffing your face won’t fill a void. Taking a few x-rated excursions will only make you feel empty.
What is it, you ask?
A shower.
Now, hear me out.
Water is a cleanser – actual and spiritual. Why do you think people are baptized in water and not vodka? True, neither will stain your clothes, but one doesn’t leave you hung over, waking up in some stranger’s bed, wondering, How the hell did I get here? and, You were so much better looking last night.
So, I pull off my clothes, jump into the shower, turn on the taps, wait for the water to warm up, and pull the knob.
The initial shock of cold water frightens me as it hits my torso, and I let out a little yelp. Soon, the temperature heats up.
Stepping underneath the showerhead, I let the water come down on my head. The sound resembles that of diving head-first into the ocean; gurgles and static.
My hands press against the tiles. I lean forward and arch my back in a semi-sprinters position. The water slowly trickles down my neck, shoulders, arms, torso, back, ass, legs and feet.
Drenched.
The noise stops any thought from developing in my head, any sounds coming from my mouth.
The water cleanses me of all history. Each drop rolls down my back and off my skin. They swirl down the drain in little circles. Ideally, I want to stay here for hours, making sure that every last miserable memory is gone.
The process is biblical and sacrilegious in thought, but logical and self-serving in practice.
I want it to go away.
Wash me of this filth. Wash me. Wash me clean.
Authored by S at 12:00 am
1 Comments:
Dude, I had NO IDEA you were a fellow worshipper of the shower god.
I LIVE for the hour long weekend showers. Hey, if God can cover up New Orleans, I don't think he'd begrudge me an hour in the shower, to travel somewhere else, and warp into someone else, for a mompt.
Yup, I'd say you're probably squeaky clean.
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