Posted in Paper Clips

I’ll Call the Plumber

You’re broken, you silly thing. Can’t you see that?

And you must be tired.

And you simply must need a rest. But you’re not getting the attention you need.

The pump, in your tank, it’s busted. It’s constantly leaking water into the bowl, which slowly drains and drains, so that the bowl is streaked, no matter how many times it gets cleaned.

You must be exhausted, my alabaster friend. You are constantly, constantly running, and it’s not your fault. You have so much to do. You have so much on your plate, but not enough water in your tank. Never enough. Even when you get a refill, it doesn’t last. It doesn’t stay. It drains away, and fifteen minutes later, it has to refill again just so you can function. Just so you can maintain some semblance of toilet-dome.

Some people call you the porcelain throne.

You must feel a little bit like a porcelain pit.

Girl, I feel like you sometimes. Sometimes I feel like I have too much to do, and not enough time to do it. I’ll get one part of my life under control, and it’ll be hard to do, and I’ll need a break, but I’ll turn around and something else has to be done. Pronto. No resting. No waiting. Right away! Get it done! And usually, I’d say I can do it. But sometimes, I feel like it doesn’t matter how much effort I put into my tank. It will always, always be draining, and there is no one out there who can fix my problem. The pump – the will power, the oomph, the werve – it can’t be replaced by any plumber or person.

That is the obvious difference between you and I.

You are an inanimate object.

I happen to be a human being.

And as such, I am the master of my own fate. I get to choose. I get to notice my ever-emptying tank, and I get to do something about it. You? You have to wait until someone notices you. I don’t have to wait to be noticed. I can make changes, noticed or not. I can do what I want, because I am a free agent. It is not the responsibility of man, woman, or child to make me feel better, or worse, or different.

That’s on me.

Good chat, Toilet. I’m sorry you’re so tired. You hang tight.

I’ll call the plumber.

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Author:

My name is Emma. I wear about a zillion hats. Getting through life, writing, eating, trying to keep two kids alive. It's an adventure, ya'll.

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