I have to adhere to a strict grooming schedule since I tend to not shower if my mood is a certain way. So here I go, first thing in the morning…. I stay in bed….. and speculate my strategy into the shower. I stare at the ceiling and shudder at my fate. My fate of surrendering to the feeling and sound of the shower. Of the me, standing there in the center of it. The sound of the shower screaming on my skin.
The sound of the shower starts off slicing through the silence of the morning. The steam from the shower stuns my face as I stare into the tub. Into the space, into the stall, into the steam, and into the shower here I fall. Sniveling sounds escape from my lips as the water swallows me into pieces. Water sputtering and stacatto-ing and sinking into my sensitive skin. Streaking in cacophonous sounds that are swift and shrill. Each drop steering itself down scrutinizing my surface, stealing glances from the precipice that is my head to my toes as they descend to the drain. Strain.