(Still)Saturday, March 05- All in my head

Perhaps because of extensive reading or perhaps just because of my genetic make-up, there seems to be an ongoing narrative that is constantly being written in my head.  Of course there are times when the voice is absent, but more often than not, especially lately, this novelization of my current situation seems to be in the making.  The bitter cold and silence of the shower seems to be the time when I can hear it most clearly.  As I have just finished this brutal activity and I need to stay stationed in front of my fan to dry my hair, allow me to share with you an excerpt of my cognitive novel.  I believe this is the opposite of writers’ block; simply being unable to stop the words from coming together in my mind.

                With music time finished and the children organizing their own play time, I glance at my watch to see how long I have before dinner time.  The digital numbers read out 2:21am.  I still haven’t adjusted the time to match this time zone and I don’t intend to.  Somehow I like feeling like part of me is still connected with home.  I add the two hours that are necessary for the conversion and change the am to pm:  4:21pm. This leaves me with nearly two hours before dinner and since today has been warmer than usual and I’ve spent a good deal of it working up a sweat I decide now is a perfect time to shower.  I always try to be as worn out as possible before braving the cold of the shower. I walk inside the boys’ dorm, my current and ironic residence, and after stopping briefly to greet the cute puppies napping in the warmth of the common area I precede to the first door on the left which proudly wears my name in several different places.  I unlock the door and enter my tiny cement throne room.  My glance darts to the wall above my bed as a pair of lizards scurry away, knowing they have no business in here when I’m home.  I gather up the several items that must accompany me to the CR (“comfort room”—more irony) in order for me to successfully complete this uncomfortable task.  Walking to the very end of the hallway where the CR is located, I peek inside the open doors to see some of my dorm mates sprawled out on their beds enjoying their little afternoon siesta. I get to the shower and lock myself in with the effective stool in front of the door maneuver.  This is really more just to indicate to any passersby that there is in fact someone occupying this shower.  As I start to place my shampoo, conditioner and other supplies around my feet my mind recalls my shower at home.  Amazingly, this shower is bigger however that in no way makes me keener on this one than mine.  I think of how warm and clean and relaxing my home shower is.  I start to feel the pangs of homesickness welling up so I brush the memory away and return to busying myself with the setup.  Preparing myself for the initial and most painful plunge, I hold my breath, tense my muscles and give the knob behind me a quick turn to the left. This is my routine at the beginning of every shower, however today it turns out to be a little unnecessary as the water is not as terribly cold as usual.  It’s by no means warm or even lukewarm, however it doesn’t in fact bite you when it makes contact and that is an improvement.  I still only leave it on for a few seconds so to not risk running out of water; I’ve yet to have this happen to me mid-shower and I’d very much like to keep it that way.  With my hair wet I begin lather in the shampoo.  I think that it’s been two or three days since I shaved my legs and considering tomorrow is Sunday and I’ll be wearing a skirt, I decide I need to that as well.  This adds yet another painful rinse to my regimented shower plan. Time to rinse out the shampoo.  Breath held and staring at the ceiling as the no pressure shower head leisurely runs the soap out of my hair, I see another lizard scaling the roof directly above my head.  Those stupid critters are everywhere! It continues on its merry way though and I return to the task at hand, getting the conditioner in my hair and moving on to shaving.  Pressing on the top of the bottle of shaving cream that Emily left me, I discover it is almost empty.  Before long I’ll be opening my last can and having two months left, I know it won’t last the duration of my trip.  I can certainly use body wash when my supply of shaving cream is gone, but I’ll still try to make it last as long as possible;  It’s just nicer and here you learn to hold dear those “nice” things.  I can hear that I am no longer alone in the CR and I have visual proof of it as well as soapy water begins to pour in from the front right corner of the shower making its way to the drain on the other side.  For reasons that I don’t know, the sink drains into a shower; just another reason that I do not remove my flip flops when showering.  As I finish one leg I bang my razor on the floor trying to empty some of the contents.  I wonder what the boys think I’m doing when they hear this.  Maybe they know and I’m not giving them enough credit, but very few of the girls here shave, none of them fellow orphans, and even if more did they have separate CRs.  I’m curious, but not enough to strike up a conversation about my showering with people whose language I know only simply words and phrases from.  Looking over my razor I see that it is starting to look blunt and rusty.  I’m going to try to hold off changing it for two more weeks until I make it to my half-way point.  I’ll replace it with my last blade then and that should take me to the end.  It will at least get me to Australia where I can get a new one if necessary. Oh, Australia.  I can’t think about that trip without feeling the excitement grow from my toes to my hair.  Seeing my lovely Grandma and my “farm family” has me pushing through the hardships here.  That is certainly going to be a sweet reward after this—however, I know that it will not outdo the joy I will experience in being reunited with my family and friends in Texas.  It is thoughts like this that I wish to dwell on as the freezing water finishes of this washing experience, but I know better than to let myself fly up to that euphoric place.  The thud of returning to reality is far too painful and unnecessary.  (This thought brings to mind a line from “Anne of Avonlea” and I begin quoting the entire scene in my head.  I shant recall that particular memory in full for the sakes of those reading.)  Happily turning off the water for the last time I nearly forget where I am and leave with shower with just my towel wrapped around me.  Though that would certainly make a funny story and something I’d have to email Emily about immediately, I give myself a quick reminder and begin to get dressed within the confines of the shower.  I won’t be totally dry for quite a while and it will most likely happen only after sitting in front of my fan for a good amount of time.  I normally pass this time by blogging, emailing or playing Spider Solitaire.  I’m excited to tell my dad how well I’m doing in that game using four decks.  I won my first four deck game as I sat in the San Antonio Airport now more than a month ago, waiting to leave for three and a half months away from home.  I called home and was able to share my excitement with him.  Once I return I’ll be a pro and we’ll form some kind of elite club where we exclude all non-four deck players from joining.  That, or he could just take me sky diving.  We planned that little escapade for my 18^th birthday and since this July will issue in my 21^st birthday, I’d say it’s high time we get up there.  Maybe he’ll surprise me; who knows? Thinking about my dad makes me miss home and I need to push away yet another thought tangent and remember where I am and why.  I remember that I haven’t had some time with just me an God today (except for the constant conversing I do in my head when I am not preoccupied concocting a bestselling autobiography)and I decide to get away and go to the view after I write a blog and dry my hair. Now what should I write about?

Alright, well if you ever had the crazy desire to know what goes on in this brain, well there it is.  I’m off to the view.

This is for Blythe.  Do you remember that story you wrote with the short guy and the rainy night and all that?  I really want to know how that ends! Also I love you!