In the shower, things wash away. The skin I shed yesterday that just wouldn’t fall off is washed off. It makes me wonder how some people can shower at night. To start a day, I believe this ritual of renewal must take place. When thought of this way, it becomes clear why homeless men can’t get their shit together, why long road trips with no stops seem to be one block of time without an intermission, or why we feel the need to say, “Tomorrow’s a new day,” or even come up with the word ‘tomorrow.’
In the shower, my thoughts always seem to be accelerated. In ten minutes, in my own head, I can cover thousands of topics. It could be my recurring fantasy one moment and then I’ll leap over to my job, women, drunken nights, guitars I’d like to buy, what I need to do today, how I might spend some of my money, where that scab came from. Eventually, I need to get out of the shower if only to escape my own mind.
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