Monday, June 2, 2008

Day one hundred and fifty four ... Drip ... drip ... drip ...

The sink is talking to me again.

... drip ... drip ... drip ...

It knows I'm trying to concentrate and write.

It knows full well I didn't get enough sleep last night.

And still it babbles on and on to me from the kitchen.

... drip ... drip ... drip-drip-drip ...

I know why it's upset.

It has a new roommate, and they can't stand each other. Mortal, lifelong enemies they have become in a mere matter of minutes.

... drip ...

Yesterday, I went out and splurged at Wal Mart and bought an under-the-counter fluorescent lamp and installed it--$6.98, and I was in business.

I turned it on, and five seconds later all hell broke loose.

My sink is mad because I now can see its surface and surroundings in a way I never could before.

...drip ... drip ... drip ...

See, my sink used to be able to hide its dirty edges, hard-water marks, bits and pieces of muck, and its swaths of grime. It had a conspirator, high above, who cast a forgiving, gentle, arc of warm, orange light. For as long as I have lived here--8 years this fall--the brightest light in my kitchen was a 60 watt bulb. It illuminated most of the room. But the sink, which sits under a bank of cabinets, had a nice cushy existence. It was almost a sovereign nation.

Not that I didn't clean it on a regular basis. I did. I enjoy the feeling of killing mold and mildew, as well as having clean dishes always at the ready. But I could only make clean the dirty surfaces I could see. And I could only see what the overhead room-lamp allowed me to see.

... drip ...

The new kid sticks out like a sore thumb. He is so not from this part of town, or even this country for that matter.

And now my sink is making my life uncomfortable because I can see its shame.

... drip-drip-drip ...

60 watts of pure fluorescent clarity--it feels so modern. It's the first and only bulb in my house that is not incandescent, not that I planned it that way. What a remarkable and odd variance of light vibration and diffusion for me. It almost marks it's territory with its self satisfied superiority. It's doing so as I type.

... drip ...

I just went and picked up some tasty Chinese food. When I came back and opened my door, having shut all the lights off before I left except for the fluorescent one, it was as if a spaceship had landed in my kitchen. You know those spacemen are on the efficiency tip--traveling at light-speed and all.

I don't care what Al Gore says, I like my incandescents. They curb my hallucinations. That's always a plus.

... drip-drip ...

After a thorough Comet scrub and sponge-bath my sink is clean and shiny. But, in time--a short time--it will accrue the marks and blemishes that a working piece of plumbing cannot escape. If I let a few days go by where I allow the soapy bubbles to stay and frolic in the stainless steel playground, residue will form hills on its slick surface, re-directing the rivulets of tap water from their most efficient and sanitary path, to one of apathy and regression. If I don't keep up even more diligently than I have, my sink will become unmanageable. It will slip into a mode that just gets worse and worse by the hour, feeling comfortable in its staid circumstances and not inclined to try to impress those who see it daily and rely on it: the silverware, the china, the cups ...

... and the new kid from out of town, who sits high on a pedestal and emits pure white light with an enviable efficiency and a throw like a pro-baller. 

Hey, it's pretty quiet. I wonder if they came to some kind of understanding.









... drip ...



Thanks for reading.

F.A.J.

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