Tonight, in the claw-foot tub in my new apartment, I took my first shower in four days. I never generally look forward to showers, but this one I was especially loath to take. I expected the water to be cold, the pressure to be puny, and the drafts to be ample, as I only have two regular shower curtains, instead of the three required to provide full wraparound coverage. I really dislike being wet and cold, exponentially more than I already dislike being merely wet. Wet is vulnerable. Cold and wet is debilitating.
I could smell myself all day at work today, though, and I knew I had to shower this evening, no matter how uncomfortable it might be. It turned out only to be mildly drafty, and not so much more terrible than showers are anyway. I've had my beers, and I'm in a large, warm sweatshirt, and I'm at peace again. In fact, I'm in an exceptionally good mood. I've reclaimed my speakers and my music, and they are with me in my bedroom, which is where they make the most sense. It's like being able to hear music in the most intimate way, without the encumbrance of headphones. How was I living without them in my bedroom?
And how was I living without my own space and my own time and my own preferences? The pleasure afforded me tonight, in this mostly empty apartment, is mostly worth the accompanying loss. I am comfortable, able to adapt to drafty showers, able to consist on Miller Lite and pretzels. I needn't have a microwave. I needn't have a sofa. I've got my music and the smell of my shampoo, and it's nice not to be wearing any lacy black underthings under this sweatshirt. It's nice not to be wearing any underthings at all.
In addition, I don't give a motherfuck about what other people think of my taste in music. I adore the music I adore, and if you don't like it, cool, man, but fucking fuck you for impugning my taste when clearly you have none. Please, like what you want to like, and dislike what you want to dislike. Please. Please do that. Think for yourself. Allow yourself to enjoy or hate something for its own merits and according to your own preferences. I don't give a fuck what you want to listen to. I also do not need to hear your fucking mouth run about how a professional classical musician thinks my music to be terribly simple. You wouldn't know better, so shut the motherfuck up. If you had the capacity to enjoy anything other than bitterness, you might find some of my music to be rather lovely.
Finally, the food stuffs over which I felt sufficient ownership to take with me included: vodka and Party Pizzas from the freezer, tomato juice and Lea & Pearins from the fridge, Spike and Irish Breakfast from the cupboard.
I've got many friends who can care for me. Just feel everywhere at home to my role. It's a brand new day. Let's go somewhere else.
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