Today's one of those days where I'm completely overwhelmed by the minutiae of life. The details are getting to me, better known as the "small stuff" we've been commanded not to "sweat." Currently, I'm sweating the broken pipe outside my house. It froze and burst last week when I was out of town, and according to the City of Dallas, 15 gallons of water per minute spewed out of our poor neglected PVC. All I could think of was a harrowing documentary called Flow that Bryan and I watched last year. Flow focuses on the world water crisis and shows scene after scene of impoverished villagers scrambling for a few drops of water out of a rusty communal pump. Meanwhile, I feel incredibly inconvenienced having to wait on the plumber who is two hours late. And guilty for sweating over two extra hours. And guilty for wasting enough water to quench hundreds of mouths.
But perhaps Bryan's right when he justifies our accidental waste: our homemade geyser fed the hydrosphere.
