I have a favourite bathroom stall in the women’s washroom at work. It’s the very last one in the first row. Close the door, slide the latch, take your seat and more times than not, a new message is waiting to greet you. Sometimes I’m told that I’m beautiful or “worth it” or that someone has chosen to give up on love. It’s the “graffiti stall wall” of secrets and positive reinforcement. Think “post secret” (www. postsecret.blogspot.com) but with a larger germ component.
Scribbled hastily above the roll of .5 ply toilet paper, today’s contemplative cliche lay before me: “Fate? Maybe one day it will all make sense.”
I thought to myself, “One day” is today. I stopped for a moment before pushing open the stall door, resisting the statement inside my head: Today? No, no, that’s too soon…
… isnt it?