by LexaLee
Today I took a shower 6,500 kilometers away from home and I realized that I was made of nothing, so I curled up into the corner of the shower stall of my student apartment to look for the advice that Google couldn’t give me in the 21st tile from the bottom right corner. It was a serviceable tile, with no Genuine Achievements, no Admirable Goals, no Workable Prospects, so all it gave me was silence — and a condensed droplet from the steam which slid down, grew bigger, and slid down, grew heavier, and slid down. I followed it to where it drained into the grate clogged with matted hair and the remnants of used shampoo and I wondered it if was possible to drown yourself in a centimeter of shower stall water. (Said Google: Yes, if you were an infant and if you had just a few centimeters more of water.) And, having drowned, I wondered if my parents would miss me for myself or miss me as a failed investment of time and money and pride or miss me for what I could have been or miss me for what I used to be. (Said Google: noun. An insufficiency, a nonperformance A person that proves unsuccessful, Forbes’ 30 Powerful Quotes on Failure, 13 Steps to Overcome Failure — with pictures.) The lack of answer made me hyperventilate. Or so I thought but really it was only all the hot-water steam fogging up the air which made it heavy and harder to breathe, especially in the bottom right corner of my shower stall of my student apartment paid for with my parents’ money. Today I didn’t want to leave the 21st tile at the bottom right corner, but as things go my parents also covered the water bill and the electricity bill and my life, so I never finished getting clean and I got myself out of there, almost all of myself.