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I have always been a devotee of water – more comfortable with my feet in it than not, more confidant with a bottle of it in my hand,  more serene when it is in my view.

One day I came to be afraid of it.  How this happened must have been gradual but it seemed to take place over night.  I remember arising from a deep sleep to refill my bedside glass and found the smell to be so over-powering I couldn’t drink it.  My morning showers grew shorter as the pelting water felt so painful and derogatory.  Pretty soon I was bird-bathing in the sink, then just scrubbing my skin with a dry washcloth.  I took my pills dry, boiled my pasta in rice milk.

The serenity I had progressively deteriorated.  When it rained I wore 6 plastic bags to strategically cover every bit of my body.

I feel betrayed by the onset of fear of something I used to cherish.  I am thinking seriously of moving to the desert.  I prefer to dry up in peace.