You somehow expect yourself to be already sitting there as part of the ritual of your own ablutions, a double of yourself starting the process before the real you arrives to attend to such a natural urge. This seems to be an out-of-body experience especially when you believe you are dreaming that you are doing what you see you are doing or, more likely, you are beset by a pre-empting ghost that should need no bodily ablutions at all but, by this means, it is trying desperately to return to carnal existence by mimicking your ablutions even before you reached the space it is already occupying, as if it can read the future or return from the dead to ambush your time in the tiled necessarium.
I had one such dream last night, and it all seemed logical, and I was confident, upon waking, that I would be able to write it all down in a coherent and believable fashion so that anyone reading it would understand what I had dreamt. How wrong could I have been! Even my power over language seems to be on the brink of fluid elision. And I know this is becoming a half-baked attempt at describing the erstwhile rationale of the dream, while I listen to strange noises upstairs in the bathroom intermittently throughout the day. Even now, having finally put pen to paper, I hope I can gather my thoughts before I finally pluck up the courage to go upstairs and check whether the damned thing has
dared leave the bathroom wet wi’ water
‘cos that’s a thing it never oughtta.
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