Brains

It was quite different. In the bath my brain would melt, but it didn't slip out my ears like it did in class. In the bath, it was like custard; warm and soon to be cooling, but at the moment just sweetly warm inside its bowl. At school my brain melted not from temperature, but from boredom, and it would run out of my ears like cream soup and drip onto the floor until my head was emptier than when I had first sat down.

Sometimes I enjoyed the emptiness. With my brain matter pooling on the floor, I was free to let thoughts enter my head, rather than having to make them up myself. I'd find myself thinking about haircuts, and who in the room used the best shampoo. Or else lies, and whether or not they were good or bad. Flowers; was picking them wrong? Sometimes songs would enter the space between my ears, and I would soothe myself with Henry Mancini classics.

From time to time the present would snap back into focus, and with the remnants of my brain that had not yet liquefied, I would realize I was being taught. I was being informed of things that I cared not for, I was being told facts and details that had nothing to do with things that matter. Would algebra help me to determine right from wrong? Would numerical dexterity make me better as a person? Fortunately, "Moon River" started playing in my head and I was spared the inanity of having to answer these questions.

One has to be careful, though. If you're not careful, the songs or the absence of brain can lull you into a deep sub-conscious state. It's important not to be conspicuous, and while sub-conscious the brain can start leaking out of the mouth, which because rather obvious.

I usually take a short jaunt to the bathroom. Not because I need to rid my body of impurities - I need the walk. It slows the de-braining process. "I have to go to the bathroom" is not a lie - it's simply misleading. Once in the bathroom I try very hard not to touch anything; I know that the place is completely rife with dirty and dangerous bacteria - but it's still the safest place to go. I count to thirty, then use both of my pinkies to open the door. Returning to class feels like a death march. Slow, plodding. Full of what would be dread if I weren't so accepting of it.

The bath though. Sitting in a hot stew of my own filth. It's a great way to stay warm. I take off my glasses in order to spare myself the intolerable sight of dust floating in the water. I once bathed in my clothes, because nakedness is so awful, but if you've ever worn wet jeans you'll know that it didn't work out very well. So now I always bathe naked. Sometimes I slip down into the water, my nose still above water, and I pretend that I'm safe in this little cocoon. I love how something clear and permeable can feel so... so enveloping. Talk about a false sense of security. My custard-brain filled with delicious thoughts.