Shower crier...

...I've always been a shower crier. 


If I needed to let it out, I would do it in the shower.  Having grown up where I did there was plenty of wide open space to roam and let all your emotions out in private.  But after leaving Kansas and moving to the big city, I found privacy was hard to come by, especially once the children began arriving.


...but the shower was always a place I took the few minutes I had to myself to wrestle with my demons and get all those pent up tears out.


So, loofah in hand, I stepped into the shower today and began scrubbing and talking to myself, to the tile, to the shower nozzle, even to the drain.  I scrubbed and rubbed and talked until my Nivea Smooth as Silk body cleanser was all gone.  When my body was sore from all the exfoliating, I reached out the shower door and grabbed the Lysol cleanser.

...no, silly, I didn't use it on me, I started cleaning the shower.  I toothbrushed every ceramic square, every inch of grout.  I scrubbed until my cuticles were bleeding and the fumes had burned my lungs.


I scrubbed and scrubbed...


...killing every organism known to live in showers...


...I scrubbed till I was pruned...


...till the water ran cold...


...I scrubbed...


...but never cried...


...this may be a bad omen.