Diverting

So you know that thing in the tub faucet that you pull in order for the water to come out the showerhead? It's called a faucet diverter (I had to look that up). Whenever I turn off the showerhead after I shower, the water continues to trickle out the tub faucet. It trickles until the diverter randomly falls down and the remaining water in the pipes pours down from the faucet in one big flood.

Here's the thing: For years, this sudden sploosh of water has reminded me of a pregnant woman's water breaking. I don't know what it is, but I can't seem to shake that connotation. Every time I shower, that little diverter falls and I am suddenly thinking of pajama-ed, soon-to-be fathers breaking traffic laws as they speed to hospitals with their overdue wives in passenger seats having contractions and praying to God while assuring themselves it's going to be fine!

I told a coworker at the Writing Center a couple years ago that the reason I don't emphasize in creative writing is because of situations like these where I start noticing too much, feeling the weight of day-to-day observation and trying to convert them into interesting metaphors. They stick with me. I think that when creative writing is on the brain, it makes me perceive the world in more creative ways. That's not a bad thing at all; that's one of the great blessings of being creative--the ability to see the world in different ways. It just makes me feel like I am living so much in my head that sometimes I can't surface, like the faucet diverter has fallen and drowned out all other things.