Shower Chairs

You know those air vents that are typically found in every bathroom in the US? I’ve grown to be distrustful of them. Not only are fucked up perverts putting cameras in them to record us shitting and showering but they also never do their job. Since the date I signed the lease for my most recent apartment, rented out by some insane Scientologist (trust me I did not know this until afterwards), that vent has never worked or I’ll give it some credit, it has never worked properly. So while I know it does not actually vent or even circulate air it sure does make one heck of a noise when I flip that switch. As I said just a sentence or so earlier, I don’t believe vents vent. But somehow I still turn that noise maker on in a failed attempt at having a mist free mirror and it not to look like a Russian Bath House when I step out of the shower. I know it sounds strange but it’s sort of a fear of mine. All that steam and oligarchs. Yuck!

 

A little background and update as of late. I’ve been going under the knife a lot lately and I wish it was for plastic surgery, I’m starting to actually see the ravages of time and it’s not pretty! Recently I decided it was a fantastic idea to go ahead and break a few ribs and my pelvis, after not to recently but within 3 months of having knee surgery, 7 months after my second shoulder surgery, 10 months after a neck surgery, and 19 months since the original and first shoulder surgery. I feel kinda like an ex con who just wants to “Go straight” but keeps falling in with those same people that encourage me to offend in the first place. And yes these people should know who they are!

 

Needless to say after the pelvis thing I’m having a bit of a problem with mobility. With the full support of my husband and the rest of my family and NO I don’t have children, I mean my real family, my cats. I caved in and bought a Shower Chair from Amazon. They sell everything! While this chair is a necessary tool for my personal health it also is a topic and punchline of my many bad jokes around the house. Can you guess? Mostly old people jokes.

 

Another BTW is I just turned 35 about a week before all this happened. So much for starting the year off right? And while making geriatric jokes is about as fun as it gets and super easy too, it also is kind of hitting alarmingly close to home after recent life events. Although I’m still getting acne at this age so WTF?

 

As much as I try and avoid that shower chair I still need it for those finer touches that some of us women do. In order to do these cleansing rituals we sometimes need to contort ourselves in strange ways while in the shower. It’s a beautifully strange balancing act, that I never want any human to ever see me doing! The shower chair helps me perform these acts fairly well while slightly less dignified but also seated.

 

As a non permanently disabled person I chose to take a shower while my Father In-law and current caregiver had decided he wanted to go out for a walk, I guess I just wanted some privacy. In retrospect this was a terrible idea. Why did I choose to do that most dangerous activity of my day, when the only other person in my home at that moment would not be around to help me in the event that I fell or something worse?

 

Very poor judgment on my end.

 

Sitting there on that off white plastic seat thinking to myself I always thought it was that color because well… Grandma was gross in her old age. I only ever really knew her when she was old and I just assumed that the reason for the color of her shower chair was because she doubled down on her tub and use it as a toilet. No unitaskers right? Maybe she just enjoyed peeing in the shower, as do I. My thought process is that I’m keeping athlete’s foot away or keeping Jellyfish at bay. So there I am sitting there trying to adjust my ass because while not only being that attractive hue of off white it also has another ability, super grippy on the butt. A little extra soap seems to do the trick, Thank you Heloise. All lubed up, bar of soap in one hand and a disposable razor in the other, I think to myself “I’m married, husband is out of town. Let’s get down to business!”

 

Being a white woman in her 30’s I’ve done my fair share of yoga classes over the years, some good, some ridiculous, some bad. Yet almost all of them end with a lengthy talk / discussion about what I’m sure I’m describing quite simplistic and crudely as “Living in the Now.” I do understand this philosophy wholly and completely. My feelings are that if you are not living in the “Now” then you are batshit crazy, how can you not live in actual reality?  There are some definite greys in my perception of reality but living is pretty well black and white. You are either “here” or you are not.

 

Okay so there I am in the shower alone in my house shaving my legs and being very aware. When all of a sudden I notice crickets. I don’t see crickets, I hear them. You know like those ones in old cartoons when a character makes a terribly bad joke in front of a large audience and the only sound you hear is the soft chirping of crickets. The sound of disapproval. Now in this moment I am not alone but put on a display. This horrid feeling is as if I was pulled up on a stage without realizing what was happening and then expected to perform something which I don’t understand yet everyone is waiting for me to do something. Now, I can hardly believe what my subconscious is doing to me or even if this is my brain creating this strange reality. Was this voyeurism, if there is only one? Oh crap! Am I “In the Now?” Can this be what people experience when they say they feel “uncentered?”

 

I’m aware that I’m home alone, injured badly, on a huge amount of painkillers, and probably had a glass of wine or two?

 

“Are those really Crickets?”

“Are you sure?”

“Something isn’t right!”

“Feels pretty out of it to me.”

 

Knowingly having these thoughts and experiencing these emotions, this moment didn’t feel like what my eyes were seeing. A small bathroom, dim lighting (should be brighter, it’s a bathroom for F’s sake!), shoddy wooden toilet seat, me sitting naked behind the shower curtain, that one hand still holding a bar of soap and the other still a razor.

 

“Wait a minute Crickets?”

There is no window in this bathroom but somehow I now have Crickets?”

 

A wave of rationalisim washes over me.

 

I’m beginning to wonder if  that severity of sobriety should be celebrated at this point?

 

I remember a saying my Grandma always used to spout out. “Idiots are always Happier.” Who was she talking to and who was it directed at? There was never any clear indication that she directed these words at a particular person or if these were some sort of sage words she tried to impart with me. My Grandma was one of the smartest people I ever had the chance to meet. Or maybe she was just venting on society as a whole? She never did seem truly happy during the short time that I knew her. But grandma had lots of sayings and none of them all that great.

 

Grandma Isms

 

  1. “You’ll eat a peck of dirt before you die.”

            Some sort of folksy, farmer, germ, thing I actually believe and one of her better sayings.

  1.   “It’s a STOP! Not a give up!”

            Referring to driving and 4 way stops, I normally credit this to my mother but I’m pretty

            sure it was passed down. Also my husband’s favorite.

And the most emotionally damaging.

  1.   “You’ll never get a man by doing that!”

             A sentence said to me at practically everything I did as a kid, I must not have been boy

             Crazy at this time because I don’t remember caring all that much when she said it.

 

Okay so now I’m beginning to realize I’m pretty used to reality  by this point, I’m starting to think I was raised that way. What a bummer really.

 

That’s when it hit’s me ‘It’s Not Crickets!”

 

It’s that goddamn half fucked air vent, sitting superiorly in the space above my head, watching me, judging me, driving me batshit crazy! Really air vents can do this, cause this much damage to my already weakened psyche. Alone, naked, and scared this is all I need!

 

To my landlord who is out there I know this is very “passive aggressive”  but “Fix the Fucking vent!”

 
*loosely based on reality and exaggerated for effect

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