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01/08/2005: "Flush"

I pushed the handle down. The waters did not spiral nicely down and away. They rose. Swirling slowly, clockwise, they rose, and they were not pure waters. something was in them, swirling, rising, coming up to the very lip of the bowl. A trickle over the edge. I pulled the little rug away, and the laundry basket, and watched as the cascade threatened. And then it subsided, downward, with renewed force. The stream had run across the room and into the corner. I mopped it up and left the house for the day. O fixture, I have trusted you; how will I learn to trust you again?