Sunday Poems 47: Water on the scalp

Last week, the water was shut off in my building for a couple of days. Those couple of days happened to be when I had my days off. Poor timing. Showers are one of my favourite anti-depressants. They’re also when I get a lot of ideas.

As a person with ADD, I struggle with task switching: as I often call it, changing states. Think of water coming to a boil. As the temperature rises, more and more of water is being transformed into vapour. A few degrees below the boiling point, a fair amount of vapour is being released, but once you hit the boiling point, things are really going. Get much above that, and the vaporization happens even more quickly.

When I’m trying to change tasks, I often get stuck just before the boiling point. Mostly staying liquid, but partly turning to gas. A little bit here, a little bit there.

I think that showers are so satisfying for me in part because once you’re under the shower-head, you can’t just wander off absentmindedly. There’s a clear point of transition. Water on, water off; in the shower, out of the shower. I can’t wander around the house wet in the same way that i can get distracted by doing the dishes while also working on editing. Starting with a morning shower is a good rehearsal of how I can practice follow-through with all of my tasks for the rest of the day.

Sundays are nice days to practice the ideal morning routine. You wake up with the sunlight at just the right time. You’ve got a list beside your bed. The first item on the list is that thing your body feels best after doing, maybe stretching, maybe meditating, or maybe masturbating. You read a few pages of your favourite book. Breakfast follows. You know what you like to eat. A walk after breakfast helps to digest, and helps to clear the mind. Can every day be like this? Below is a poem. If you’d like to share it with a friend, I think they would like that. As always, I’m here if you need to talk. Have a great week, everybody.

encounter poem

i don’t remember your name.

you remind me of your name.

we had been up all night.

i leave and a few minutes later you send me a note.

i don’t remember where we’ve met before.

looking up pictures of friends on the internet.

we google each other.

we’re all over the internet.

i cut my shell off for you.

i cross the river.

Originally published October 2, 2016.

Theodore Fox is a poet living on Treaty Six land in Canada.
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