Tuesday, June 24, 2008

Public bathrooms, to the untrained eye, may appear to be small rooms–and here we fulfill your daily pun allowance–flush with plumbing and devices made to regulate sanitation for society at large. Dig deeper, though, and they are unique commentaries on the human struggle, especially vis-à-vis a little something I call basic aim. I swear, looking at some of the spectacular misses plastered on the filthy floor, you’d suspect urinals and toilets weren’t modern conveniences, generous with diameter, but rather unforgiving bull’s-eyes designed for the Marksman’s Club or some kind of magic archery contest in the Shire.

I just finished vacuuming. Specifically the downstairs of my townhouse and not a public restroom, as the natural flow of paragraphs would suggest, and I have a confession to make. It’s shameful, really, but the number of insects moving in is nature’s indicator of how lazy my housekeeping’s been. It just feels like my domestic life operates in a completely different time-space continuum than, say, my office existence, and instead of procrastination you have slowcrastination.

Let’s say I trap a spider under a foam cup. A shiny object or loud noise distracts me, the cup sits there for days, and the bug dies a slow, wretched death. If the same scenario played out in the office, I would’ve quickly crushed the insect, then probably cut and pasted it into Excel. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have some dishes to not wash.