While I was at the hostel in Nashville, I went on an unplanned shower strike, starting on Wednesday. I would wake up each day of the strike, and think, “Well, I better take one today,” but the day would pass and I would sink deeper and deeper under my covering of slime and filth. By Monday, I knew that I would not be able to handle my smell any longer, especially confined in my little car, so I ended the strike.
I think it’s a lot like rainbows. You can’t plan rainbows; they just happen, and they are beautiful and they provide a sense of inner warmth that’s hard to match. Yet, when they’re gone, you understand why they left, and cling to the fact that somewhere, sometime, they’ll be back again to bring a smile to your lips and a glisten to your eye.
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