The Allegory of the Bathroom

I spend most of my mornings on the toilet, daydreaming. Today, light filtered in onto the tiles through the window and the way the blinds sat resembled prison bars, a dark array of shadows slicing through the light. 

All of the sudden, a butterfly from outside flew past, its shadow was all I could see fluttering through the light and shadow display on the tiles, and I felt as though I was in Plato's Allegory of the Cave, except in my bathroom. This also is the case because I spent the entirety of yesterday indoors, unbeknownst to all the beauty and mystique of nature that was lingering outside. I had missed out on an entire day of life, just sitting there, procrastinating, wasting away on my sturdy computer chair. 

It is a shame - or is it? I wonder about all the things I could be doing and then I think about my mild social anxiety and remember that I would not do any of those things. And that encourages my inhibitions. So I still sit in that cave, only seeing fragments of outside life through the shadows of the perspectives of the telling from everyone else, whether it be television shows or books or posts on social media sites. So much potential laying in its place, idle, watching only the potential of others and living off the perspective and observations of the outsider that visits the cave to tell the others of the wondrous things. 

Yet while I view this idleness as a negativity, it also plays a part in shaping my identity. For in excreting waste, I get the vicinity I require to think things over freely and without any interruption. In fact, most of my ideas are formed whilst I am on the toilet, or whilst I am in the shower, both very private sanctities. They provide me with headspace, and I come out of both situations not only feeling refreshed, but also feeling enlightened. In a way, I need these sanctities. I need procrastination. I need a cave, but I do not need the chains that it normally comes with.

I will continue to live on this way, presumably because I have showed no signs of difference as of yet. Perhaps my inhibitions will later in life disappear, and I will be able to accomplish more, but for the time being I remain a thinker, an observer, and a voluntary victim of the cave.

On the Annoyance of Blind Spots on Backs

There is nothing in the universe as irate to humans beings as the blind spots on their backs, that very spot that no matter how far they reach, they will never be able to scratch themselves.

The back is the most important part of the human body because it is what we have and cannot see, which strikes a powerful resemblance to distant lovers. And like distant lovers, we need to be very sure that our backs receive the undying attention they deserve from time to time. But we never give it to them, so they begin to itch at us – they start with a small itch, in the lower regions, and you reach it, scratch it and continue with your daily activities. Then, another itch forms on either shoulder, and you are able to reach and rid yourself of that too. You move on throughout your day, not paying attention to what is right behind you.

Then, you begin to itch in the spot just out of reach. It is right there, and despite all your awkward looking efforts, you simply cannot reach it. Now, picture yourself with that itch in a public place whilst you are surrounded by strangers. This literally is a recipe for disaster. Could you attempt to scratch that itch by bending both of your arms backwards at separate times and risk looking awkward? Could you perhaps lean against something mildly sharp, and rock your body up and down subtly to relieve yourself from that itch? Perhaps you could ask a fellow stranger to assist you in ridding yourself of the itch – bonding experiences, after all, could branch out of spontaneous moments like these.

You do none of those things, because they are quite silly. You wait until you are home, and you ask – unless you live alone – a family member to assist you, and they do. In this case, the itch is quite likely to return, this time irritating you a lot more. You ask that same family member again, and slightly hesitating, they again assist you. The third time, they promise themselves, they will not. The third time comes along, and you have the worst itch ever imaginable. You dare not ask that family member, or another. You instead walk to the nearest door, and open it, and place your body upon the post without the hinges that hold the door, and you rock your body up and down, side to side. The blunt edges that this post provides only alleviates the itch for a small while, though it harms not your skin in the process.

Plato had claimed that ‘according to Greek mythology, humans were originally created with four arms, four legs and a head with two faces. Fearing their power, Zeus split them into two separate parts condemning them to spend their lives in search of their other halves.’ I believe that Zeus actually split them because one day, they received an unreachable itch. After a not so momentary attempt with their four arms to reach that itch, Zeus saw it fit that he should split them, so that they can scratch their itches with ease.

Sitting on my desk at this moment in time, is my very own purple back-scratching device. For a cheap price of only two Australian dollars, I now own the key to my survival, a simple mechanism that I can use which allows me to liberate myself from the curse of the unreachable back itch, without having to humiliate myself in public or bother family members or spread my dead skin cells on my door posts. My struggles in reaching these annoying back blind spots, per se, have been diminished.

To rid yourself of this utter annoyance and humiliation, I advise you to also purchase one of these wondrous purple mechanisms. They are located on the counters of little shops filled with useless but useful things run by cheery Chinamen. And they are a darn bargain.