The irony of drinking water first thing in the morning [rambling]

Why morning water?

Morning water is the worst – it burns my throat with uneasiness and reminds me how worn out I already am at five o’clock. And it is lukewarm, which no one likes ever.

It is very much needed, said absolutely everyone apparently. It wakes you up and freshens your body; and of course, your body needs water, for it is mostly water. There is something also along the lines of balancing the acidic level of stomachs in order to make you enjoy my breakfast easier. For that, sometimes I cheat and drink something else. Of course, nothing can be enjoyable, but at least they are not bleak and tasteless and smell of electricity the way boiled tap-water with ice is. Every drink ever works better than boiled tap-water.

There is something sterilized about the thing that makes it simply repulsive. Funny how that works; being too clean should seem like the easiest choice for us, we have spent our entire existence searching for it anyway. Maybe it is that electricity-like smell. I don't even know how electricity can smell like anything, but if it does, I imagined it to be as boring, bland and unhealthy as boiled tap-water with ice. But how could I ever live without electricity?

Not surprisingly, since we usually learn things the hard way, people have learnt that being overly sterilized is an actual thing. Over-sanitizing could weaken your body, deprive it of a diverse microbes that would help immensely in the long run, the way underexposure of Life would eventually make you weak and feeble to the wider world. And it is certain that no amount of books would be able to rectify the damage once it had been done. That aside, absolute cleanliness and order is boring, mind-numbingly boring.

That is literal. Minds broken, cracked under the pressure of the lack of pressure. The thing is called Eustress Deficiency, and its sole existence is deeply ironic.

I sometimes like to determine for myself what I think of as alive. Certainly not blocks of white wifi routers, not wide-angled television screens, and absolutely not tap-water, boiled and iced. Milk and juice are not soulless to me. I have come to love more things with odors and colors, so sometimes even machinery can still acquire adorable loveliness. I think of my home’s elevator. Some scratches, some discoloration, some peeling stickers and the non-washable smell of life, of hardening mud lying in between gaps along the stone flooring, which looks different every time you see them. Sometimes there would also be announcement papers, printed, frayed and loosely stuck to the panels because of course no one ever actually took a look at the noticeboard. I love the idea that everything has the potential to be alive, rather than a pristine existence waiting for living things to come and make use of them. Even corpses, like fallen leaves, are all alive, in that they change and color themselves with what surrounds them.

Fire itself as a concept should look like it must have been the first thing to ever have lived, for how ferociously it shifts and shines. The thing about fires in practice: it feels like they are making others live their lives for them. They influence others but rarely allow things to affect them.

In that sense, maybe I should love human beings the most, for they are always alive, for I can then hate and love them however I like, but still appreciate the fact that they are alive. But sometimes, maybe looking at the signs of living is better than looking at living itself. Sometimes I just care more about finding lives than living in them, wondering how many more lives I would be able to recognize before finding my own. In that sense, I might just as well turn myself into electricity. Or fire. Or electricity on fire. Or fire on a TV-screen, which honestly sounds like the deadest thing to have ever been dead.

And then, I also wonder if they talk, all these living things, before mixing together to live even more. Do dust ask for permission to lean into picture frames and piano keys and fan blades, or do they just come uninvited and immediately become one with the subjects? I do not know for sure, but what I do is that I would be better off never figuring it out, as the language of living beings communicating is magical in that way, the indiscernible nature made it all the more pretty.

Oh, fuck morning water.

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