Immersed in the water, her senses were no longer preoccupied by the dollar-store sounds of traffic passing, that confused bird that sings in the dark, and the gentle bumps of neighbors moving from behind the wall. She imagined not having any neighbors at all, but rather, little people that scurried around tunnels wrapping beside the beams of the wall. Thud. Her toothbrush knocked of the counter onto the bathroom floor: the floor where things fall permanently, because no rational being would ever dare try to salvage anything. Let’s be frank. Most things in this world, cell phones, shoes, bags, and especially floors, are completely covered in poop. There is likely a negative correlation between “you think it’s-covered-in-poopness” and “actually-covered-in-poopness.” Her mind interactively plotted such a scientific idea: would her mental imagery be in R or python today? Or a different plotting software that had yet to be invented?

These were the ridicules, entire fantasies and thought processes triggered by something so small as a thud, that kept her imagination at bay. The normal inundation with daily noises also provided a constant source of material to inspire such fantasies. But now, this moment, with water up to and into the ears, granted a whole other level of freedom. She dreamed of a cloud-based environment, no, it was an entire army of servers, where people could collaboratively program. For the meek, for those obsessed with building, solving, and risking, for those for whom it comes harder to maintain eye contact, it offered companionship. Like two friends sitting next to one another quietly embracing the togetherness that comes with shared motivation behind a larger goal, they wrote while, for, and if statements side by side on the computer screen. And with the touch of a button, either could bring down the fence that separated the coding environments, allowing the other in for an allotted time to inspect a variable, share a function, or bestow invaluable knowledge to the other. The gentle passing of hours in this flow: it was beautiful, mesmerizing, romantic. And warm… wait, what is that?

There are two possibilities when you feel a sudden warmth spill across you. You have either time traveled back to being 3 years old and peed in your pants, possibly an indication that you are starting the last phase of your life, or in her case, you know you’ve been checked out into your fantasy for just a little bit too long. The sink was overflowing. She jumped back, found momentary relief that she wasn’t again 3 or yet 83, and then returned to the reality of the small, yellow-lit bathroom. Raskolnikov, is that you? The toothbrush had long passed the five second rule (a fair extension as it too is something that is put in the mouth), the tiny wall neighbors were well tucked into their insulation beds, and it dawned on her that the confused bird was in fact a nightingale. She would possibly say something to her landlord about a sink that doesn’t properly drain, but that might risk being lost in her own mind indefinitely. It was certainly a lovely place to be, a constant comedic, vibrant and active narrator to bring joy and life to the events of everyday life. It’s amazing how much can happen in the small amount of time that a sink fills with water.

Suggested Citation:
Sochat, Vanessa. "The Sink." @vsoch (blog), 15 Jun 2015, (accessed 04 Feb 24).