Contortion

Even though I've lived here since December, I can't let go of that fake promise of comfort and relaxation usually provided by the shower. Why I still look forward to showers, I can't say -- I know what will happen once it begins, but still I hope. Please, please, please, let something change this time. Ridiculously, before I get in, I make sure the water temperature is correct. I feel it with both hands, already undressed, and climb past the curtain. Following a few seconds of comfort, I can sense a change. I don't know whether I feel it or hear it first, but there is a just-noticeable adjustment in the water pressure. What once felt wonderfully powerful, pounding my back now feels as pointless and irritating as getting poked. Fortunately, I've learned enough to GET OUT OF THE LINE OF FIRE once the water pressure goes down. It is impossible to predict whether the water is about to become too hot or too cold, but one of those extremes must be expected. I am subject to the whims and moods of the plumbing in my apartment building; both of which are regular in frequency (every 10-15 seconds), but completely unpredictable in temperament.