Sometimes, when I shower, I pretend I'm a recently rescued castaway experiencing temperature-controlled bathing for the first time in five years. I look back on those days on the island, thinking I may never make it home, fighting each day to survive.
As I rinse the shampoo from my hair, I chuckle slightly at the sublime absurdity of finding joy in a simple shower and how the people I will later pass on the street have no appreciation for these mundane experiences. I think, "Wait until they're lost on a desert island. Then, they'll see."