Indoor Waterfalls and Hot Needles

The sting of a hot shower — fiery needles smacking my neck, my back, my shoulders — has the power to relax muscles that grip like vices. I never want to leave the calming embrace of the falling water but as the steam slowly builds, fogging the mirror, dripping from the walls, the guilt begins.

We are a nation of fire and drought, we cherish each drop from the sky. Even as I cling to this intoxicating pleasure, prolonging its effects, turning the tap hard to the left — scorching, I am depriving others of life-giving liquid. I’m felling trees to build new dams. I’m igniting coal to power de-salination. I’m fracking for more natural gas to fuel my sensual ten minutes.

I could go cold turkey. Sometimes I do. On a hike in the bush there are few opportunities for showers. A frigid river seems like a miracle in these dry parts. But once home again, when I’m enveloped in that second skin, the heated waterfall cascading around me, the feelings return. I’ll never escape the compulsion, the thirst for water that burns.