I'd have forgotten my story if it weren't for affiliate links or however influence flows outside the shower.

I wasn't doing anything unusual, relative to my own routine. I won't bore you with the details; filth accumulates and only professionals cope with it in ways that aren't a complete waste of chemicals [let alone time!] so my first objective is generally blasting away the coarsest remains with the jet and then stepping around like a dog looking for a place to drop a dooq before deciding the shower itself is clean and I gotta do something about myself, now, right?

So I'm standing there -- well not quite standing, although if I editorialize too much while telling you how I lost my balance, you'll lose interest and probably die of something else anyway. I hear there are lots of chemicals.

Reconstructing my thought process would be a futile endeavor; I survived, and didn't even bruise, so any subconscious devil must have been testing the waters beyond innocent metaphor, rather than actually going for the neck. How would you ever go for the neck without a blade? Spend so long scraping filth from between the tiles that you can rewrite stage directions with your freshly filthed nails? I don't think Samuel Beckett would approve, although he's already dead.... one down, infinity left, and I haven't even declared my own shower clean yet.

Something was different; I don't think any vapors [beyond the obvious universal nighmare amphiprot_ouch_ fizzling away from the jets' main streams] clouded my judgement, although I couldn't say for sure, because after surviving I continued pushing away the imagined filth while wasting water, electricity, and bleeding daylight simultaneously and didn't quite internalise how high my barycenter had gotten while waving the hose around like I was going for the olympic platinum.

Right, the hose. It's not a complicated story. The line wasn't coiled. Hit my heel while stepping to get a better angle or something. I found a few verbs afterwards, while cleaning the cleaner [and wasting daylight], although verbs pale in comparison to not. dead. yet.

Stepping over hose lines was reputed as bad luck in some reddit argument about shrapnel. Don't expect archived links, I'm not superstitious enough to care what survivors say about slack!

I only visited this territory because I have stupid questions about chemicals and nobody without job security to lose.

Let's talk [next post] about exercises for improving your ability to not die after losing your mojo because your left arm tensed the hose against your right heel unexpectedly.