I try to drink a gallon of water every day. Two or so years ago, I saw a post about a girl who drank a gallon of water every day for a week and got clearer skin. I wanted to yield such results too. That aside, my mother raised me to believe that water is the cure for all, and 99% of the time it is. That 1% is for the days I’m a cynical non-believer. Water’s amazing stuff!
So in our first year of college, Giovanni and I started carrying around a gallon of water each, to drink through out the day. We did really well for the first few days until Giovanni started slipping off the regime and other systematic human errors, like leaving our water bottles at home or in the car, followed. And then, Giovanni left his water bottle at school, and we never saw it again. A few days later, he lost mine too. 😦 Sometimes I still bring it up. It’s an unnecessary grudge to hold, I know.
After loosing both of our gallons, we took a break from carrying around that much water, but continued drinking a lot. I’ve completely opened Giovanni’s mind to water’s cure-all properties, and he actually helped a coworker cure a headache by drinking water (if you get headaches a lot, you might not be drinking enough water to hydrate your body)! I’m proud to say that Giovanni will even tell me to drink water when I’m feeling sick. The pupil has become the master.
So about a year ago around this time, Giovanni and I left Panda Express and headed over to the gas station before going home. Like always, the gallon sat innocently by my feet, meaning me no harm, as Giovanni got out of the car and I stretched. A heavy thug sounded in my ear, but I didn’t react until I felt my toes getting wet. My eyes shot down to gallon, where water now gushed out between belches of air. After I grabbed my backpack, which really didn’t need to be the priority, I seated the gallon up. Nervous, shivery laughter shook out of me as I withheld a louder, more uncontrolled laugh in front of my boyfriend, who just returned to the car, and I asked, “Did you see that?”
Instead of admitting to nearly drowding the foot rug right away, I waited until we got back on the road. Giovanni didn’t think much about it until I showed him my once-full, now half-empty water gallon. When we got home, he investigated my side of the car, feeling the damp carpet and inspecting any possible damage. By then, all the water had seeped into the carpet, and we closed the case.
The next morning when I opened my door, the smell of raw, rancid vegestables hit me. I didn’t say anything at first, because I assumed it was the free air freshener we got at the carwash the other day, and that I wasn’t used to it. While we sat together in the car as it warmed up, we both mentioned the bad smell. I started looking and feeling under my seat for the air freshioner when my eyes spotted red. The take-out box was damp and torn, and its top was squished open with the left-over Panda Express vegetables peeking through. I gagged, apologizing to Giovanni and assuming the issue was solved.
The car smelled bad for two or three days until I finally realized that it was the poor foot rug, still drenched in water and overnight veggie juices. Giovanni rinsed it with a hose and left it out for a few days to dry. Okay, we actually neglected it for longer, until it fell off our second floor balcony, into the downstair’s neighbor’s patio, but it made it back into Giovanni’s car eventually!
About a month now, I have been carrying around a gallon again, and for about a week and a half, I have been making sure to drink it all. With that responsibility, I’ve been filling it up to the brim, and the weak cap doesn’t withstand the force of water pushing against it. The gallon sits upright, and the other day Giovanni stepped on the brakes with slight force before a speed bump, throwing the gallon onto its side. The cap popped off, and the terrible memories of the flood returned as Giovanni and I both gasped and cried in the frenzy. The floor rug dried by the time we returned home, but I’m still worried that it could stink up the Juke like it did his other car.
Now spilling the gallon in the car was traumatic, but I learned a life lesson in the bathroom yesterday.
Giovanni went to class, and I stayed in the cafeteria to work. After awhile, I needed to go to the bathroom, so I packed up all my stuff and had to carry around my gallon of water, recently filled to the top, and box of food that Giovanni and I just bought. I hesitated before setting the box and gallon on the floor, having had a bad floor experience in this very bathroom before. When I finished, I wanted to push the box and gallon out of the stall before flushing, as there are billions of germs released from toilets each flush, and I don’t want urine germs on my food. I hope that’s not too graphic, but it’s just something I think about ever since I read it in Reader’s Digest.
After pushing the box out of the stall, I swung the door around carefully, when I hit the gallon and the lid popped off. Horror flooded through me the way the water flooded the floor, and I grabbed the gallon. I found the cap sailed off in the new lake, and with a grim defeat, slowly shoved the cap on the gallon (I washed it in hot water after). I starred down at the floor, hearing doors slamming and sinks running outside my stall, and I willed the universe to not bring anyone else in the bathroom and see the puddle leaking further out of my stall. I considered running out then and there but, with the memory of sitting in a mysterious puddle of unknown before, I couldn’t put another girl through that.
I grabbed a handful of toilet paper and layed it on top of the puddle, hopelessly watching the thin paper turn grey as it soaked the liquid up to its limit. Then something similar to defeat came over me.
There’s not much else I can do at this point.
I flushed the toilet and fled the stall. While I knew I hadn’t done harm, I felt bad for making a mess that the janitors had to clean or unsuspecting girls might sit in it. Luckily, it was far enough from the toilet.
After the trauma and utter ridiculousness of the incident, I considered hiding in the library, but ended up staying in the cafeteria to save time.
In the moment, I was only trying to clean the bathroom floor, but seeing the toilet paper hopelessly drowned was life talking to me. Sure, I was defeated by my water gallon again, but I tried fix the mess. I had done the best I could, and at a certain point, there’s only so much you can do. I reached that point. I didn’t run away and ignore what I did, but my efforts also couldn’t fix the problem either.
College hasn’t been enjoyable for me since first semester, but I’ve been forcing myself to fit in. Society is watching and judging me, and society says that I have to go to school or work, but even if I work, it’s viewed negativily to not finish college. I care about what others say about me and how I’m viewed, and that makes me listen a little too obediently to what I’m told.
Well, I don’t like college, and it’s not granting me that promised success or money. There were many good classes and some interesting people, but for the price (even at a JC) of tuition, books, and supplies on top of bills, groceries, and unexpected costs, like Cookie’s vet appointment for an eye infection (she’s okay now), it feels like too much money is being spent to study a major I’m not head over heels for.
But I tried to make it work. When second semester began feeling unsatisfactory, I did some research and joined the culinary arts program, hoping to find a new drive and enjoyment in college. Plus, I could have a steady job. For what? Bills, yes, but in the back of my head… it was to support myself while I write.
So I dropped out.
I don’t want to say that I gave up, but I don’t want to say it was the best decision I could make. Yet. I don’t know as of now, but I’m hoping it will be.
It’s strange to write this as a follow-up to my depression post, but I want to get a job. I worry so much about money, even though I know it’s not a number 1 priority in the grand scheme of the universe, but if I’m making both some money to pay the bills and splurge on some penpal stationary here and there, perphaps that will ease my anxiety. If my anxiety eases down, my depression might too, which can lead to more motivation and enthusiasm. And as always, I’m hoping to continue working on this blog and get back into novel writing. I might give NaNoWriMo a go, or I may simply write on my own. Despite the madness and sorrow pen and paper can bring to an innocent artist, I am happiest in the asylum of my mind.
There comes a time when you’ve done all that you can, using all your resources and strength, but the toilet paper you’re using to mop up the spill in the bathroom might not be the fix. And it’s okay. You did all that could, and you’ve reached the point where you can’t do anything any longer to fix the problem. You can keep trying, but the toilet paper will be soaked, and fall to the ground in wet glumps, making a grosser mess; it’s okay. To have reached the end of possibilities in a part of your life is not defeat. That’s life being life, and there’s so many more possibilities outside those stalls and bathroom walls.
But please, if you make a mess somewhere public, clean it up. Someone else will clean it eventually, but they shouldn’t have to. (ﾟヮﾟ)