I shouldn’t be drunk.
I have a very important meeting tomorrow that I should be focused on but I’m terrified.
So I’m sat in the bath thinking to wash my hair now because my head will pound in the morning and I put a strawberry bath bomb in the water. I bought a whole bunch of them because I gave some to a teenager for her birthday because I remember how much I loved them as a young teen.
So plop, I drop it in, and it’s fizz fizz fizzing away and I’m watching it be so angry and so aggressive as the power of it’s own self made energy bounces it around the bottom of the tub. It’s swirling and rising and falling and in its world, it’s making the most almighty noise. It’s creating bubbles, it’s painting its immediate environment in its colour, it’s demanding to be seen, to be heard, to be noticed. For someone to see the damage the water is doing, as it degrades little fragments of it’s being until it is barely nothing. “Notice me!” it screams, “please notice my struggle!”
Problem is, to the water in the bath, it is nothing. It’s the tiniest annoyance, maybe, but a quick swish and even the colour is diluted beyond recognition. The bubbles seem almost cute, as soon as you step back from their immediate intensity – the sound, irrelevant. The water is completely oblivious to the way it is destroying the bath bomb, totally ignoring how the particles of it’s being are consuming and distributing the particles of another, until that bath bomb doesn’t remember who it was, nor what it is now.
But the really sad thing is that even when you scoop the bath bomb out of the water, even when you remove literally millions of the little molecular irritations from the bath bomb, even when you try to make it safe, it still isn’t safe. Even though the immediate danger has passed, it’s still being eaten away by the tiny droplets left over from the evil it just experienced. And then it becomes a nervous waiting game, because I’m not sure the bath bomb has any fight left by this point; will the stabbing, harmful molecules finally break it down until it disintegrates into something it never expected, or until not one suggestion of who it used to be remains. Or will we reach a silence, where suddenly it’s aware that though it is broken, scarred, damaged, a rough, bumpy shadow of its former self, it is still whole. It is different, but it still is.
Remove the water, support with blowing air, possible survival.
Remove the evil too late, no amount of support can help, no survival.
Remove the evil early enough, support with good, survival.
But which path is mine?