I like the way writing an online journal helps me crystallize my thoughts and reflect on new insights on my life and self. Most of all I like the way it gives me the semblance of having an actual interesting, fulfilling life (of which the reality may be wanting). It’s all in the telling of a story. My life-long obsession is the disparity between truth and fiction, particularly in forms (such as auto-biography, documentary, journalism etc.) that have some claim to veracity.
The only reportable event in the last 24-hours has been the double occurrence of going to the toilet by candlelight. First at the warehouse, where our neighbours, once again, forgot to leave the outdoor toilet light on. In the dark I had to light a couple of pilfered cathedral candles, making the trip out to WC, rather religious, like a holy pilgrimage. Later that night at home, the light bulb in the toilet blew out. Along time ago, someone had left an ornate, glass candelabra in my apartment. A little Victorian for my taste, I stuck it on top of the cistern to gather dust, as one of those ironic gestures of self-expressive interior design. The final irony, however, was on me, when I found myself lighting up the wicks to take a pee by the warmth of the flickering flames.
For a charming history of the flush toilet, click here.