Thursday, March 24, 2016

Fantasies in the W.C.

Straight to the point.

We relive some of our best dreams and fantasies in the W.C.

We all do at some point. There’s no denying it.
 

It could be anything—giving an acceptance speech for a literary prize; as the man with no name who kills outlaws in Lawless; the singer who performs on Broadway; the wannabe writer who finally lands a publisher; as the cricketer who scores a ton on debut; or the entrepreneur who launches a million-dollar startup. Like the sky, fantasies have no limits.
 

As you sit in that confined space, boxed in by sterile white tiles, you become creative, you start dreaming, you whisper ideas aloud, gesticulate with your hands, and even play them out. You become your own actor and your own audience.

Gross, but an engrossing moment, nonetheless.

 
You lend a voice to your unfulfilled aspirations, you see your dreams taking shape. Naturally, you are elated. It suddenly seems doable. You look around for a piece of paper, anything, to write down your thoughts before they vanish like a fart in the wind. You eye the toilet paper but it won’t hold. You grab it anyway. You drop everything (no pun intended), rush out of the bathroom, open your laptop, and stare at an empty page.

Poof! It's gone.

 
Your mind is as blank as a blue television screen. You know it’s not going to come back. Next time should you sneak in a pen and paper or speak in hushed tones into your smartphone? Not a bad idea.

The truth is we do some mean thinking in the toilet. Much of our stargazing is harmless, most of it is self-gratifying—we dream of achieving something great, something astonishing, of being heaped with praise and glory. It’s a strange thing, this search for recognition. Who doesn’t fantasise about becoming rich and famous? Even for as long as the mind holds a mirror to our dreams.

We snap out of it eventually when a sharp rap on the door jolts us back to reality.

“Everything okay, honey? You’ve been in there for like an hour?”

“I’m fine. Coming out!”

Flush.

The next day you’re back on the thinking toilet— dreaming about what you’d do if you won the lottery or pulling up in front of the world’s most expensive hotel in the world’s most expensive car or whatever it is that tickles your selfie brain.

The thing is—nowhere is idle time more gainfully employed than on the toilet seat.

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