Life in the Shitter

The rim of film covering the inside of the toilet bowl made me stop and stare for a moment. The toilet looked like it hadn't been cleaned in so long the original off-white of the porcelain made the brown of the inner parts of the shitter look like some new apocalyptic disease was brewing in a stew of I-Dare-Not-Think-About-It water.

I gazed down in horror at this scene, unsure of what to do next.

Here's the thing with needing a bathroom: The stakes are always high, and will just get higher the longer one delays. Having to relieve oneself is, I think, fundamentally one of the purest forms of comedy because everyone has a shared experience.

In this particular moment, standing in this small New York City apartment bathroom, I needed to go pretty bad. However, that toilet was so disgusting I considered running back home to my apartment and peeing there.

Another tangent: I used to lick subway poles when I was younger. I played in the public playground's sandboxes (also known as the filthy kitty-litter of New York's infants). As a kid I visited Coney Island's beach as I lightly kicked syringes out of the way before settling down for a day on the surf. I am no stranger to nasty, but I have to draw a line somewhere!

The hypocrisy of my childhood was that I would NEVER sit on a public toilet seat. In fact, I got to the point of being so sceeved out by toilets and other people's bathrooms that when I went to anyone else's house I would squat over their bowl as well. My precious tush was not going anywhere near anyone else's butt-rest. It took me years, and a whole lot of research, to finally get over my phobia of other people's bathrooms.

I suddenly judged the guy whose apartment I was in. I judged him pretty hard core. I cursed his name as I stood there doing the pee-pee dance. Fuck. Fuck. Guys are GROSS. Clean your damn toilet! It's not hard! Just pick up a scrub brush and swirl it around in the bowl a couple times and voila! Sorta' clean!

I got nervous standing there any longer than a couple minutes. What if the guy thinks I'm pooping? I'm taking an awful long time just to take a leak. The thought that he might be sitting in the living room thinking that I needed to go and take a dump in the middle of our make-out session made me overcome my fear of the petrie-dish-toilet and pee.

When I got back to the living room I had to reacquaint myself with this person I thought I knew. You're toilet just said volumes about you I thought. Then, I noticed he was rubbing hand sanitizer on his hands after having just blown his nose. What. The. Fuck.

Life in Sense-Mode

Looking at a clean surface in a bathroom. No dust. No grime. No sludge. No hair. Just: a clean surface. So clean, I can put my toothbrush down on it and not worry about gross bacteria.

Burning my fingers as I pop a piece of still sizzling bacon into my mouth.

Being covered in sweat after I ran for 45 minutes. Feeling the night before sweat out of me. Cleansing myself of all exhaustion and instead replacing the tired feeling with endorphins telling my brain that I'm rocking out.

Running my hands under warm water and washing off the night after a long shift at work. Rubbing my fingers together with soap, feeling the slippery bubbles gently wipe away any dirt or food, then wiping myself dry on a warm, fresh-from-the-dryer towel.

Biting into a soft, melt-in-your-mouth cookie and tasting the love and passion in the flavor. Savoring the buttery sugary texture as it slides down my throat. Ignoring the protests from a now distant part of my brain as my hands reach for another fresh treat to follow the first. Then, quenching my thirst with a cool glass of frosty milk I drink greedily and steadily.

Dipping my toes in cool water on a hot day. Wriggling my feet in the cool water, feeling the current tug at me, my body temperature dropping, the breath coming out of me slower as my body works less to keep itself cool.

Hearing the crack and split of a ripe watermelon being cut. Slicing off a piece and biting into the rich red fruit, feeling the sweet water gush into my mouth. Fully giving myself over to the crunchy refreshing river of juice as another bite brings more.

Peeing after holding out for SO long!

Blinking back tears as my eyes try to hydrate themselves from being in too much wind as I stick my head out the car window again and watch the world whizz by.

Feeling my heart beat and wondering if anyone else notices as I wait backstage for my cue. Breathing as steadily as I can. Shutting my eyes. Calming my shaking hands. Wiping away any sweat. Trying to hear any familiar laughs from the audience. Scolding myself for peeking through the curtains.

Kissing those lips I have wanted to kiss all night. The satisfying warmth. The tension subsiding. The passion growing. The wetness, the smoothness, the firmness and the tongue. The teeth. The hands. The cheeks. The neck. The ears. The hands. The Hands. THE HANDS.

My bed being made with fresh sheets. Staring at the mattress before pulling back the crisp new-like covers and slipping under. Being the first body to feel the newly washed material made even better if I have just taken a shower.

Relaxing back into the pillows and feeling my muscles relax after a long day. Feeling the pillows sag and shift as my weight falls into them. Throwing my head back and closing my eyes and following each breath as my lungs fill and then empty.