Thursday's Unhappy Bath

I'd dip my toe in first. Just to see if it was wet. It was. I did. I usually don't listen to my toe's findings and slide in regardless (feet first, as is the norm), so that little technique isn't particularly useful. Then I stare up at the tiles and see how far I've reached with each passing year. The first 16 in the row are cheating — this is a fairly recent habit, after all — but necessary in depicting my bathroom tile progress filtered through human age. When there's a decent amount (fingers crossed), I'll be dead. I wonder if I'll have achieved anything? Probably not. I wonder if I'll have found someone? Probably not. Well, if that was the case, maybe I killed myself. Maybe in the bath too.

Right now I'm staring up at the ceiling above the bath and thinking, "When will things, like me, look up?". Would it be ironic if I died right now because the laptop on which I'm writing this gunk fell in the bath? Hopefully just after I click "Publish post". Well, maybe more fitting than ironic.