Water Thievery

It is 3:19 am on October 15, 2023 that I write this. I can not sleep. Coffee is lethal.

I woke up at 2:47 am. My mind was abuzz with remnants of my delusional dream. All contradictory constructions, accepted as reality prior. When my reality was illogical and nonsensical, was I not insane? As the false memories receded and my consciousness prevailed, a driving thought to restore my mind to its good and normal state arose. Water is recognized to be the Holy Grail of the bedside. Its clear, cold taste restores all essence of life. But as much as it is ambrosia, it is also Circe’s poison. In the same manner that it hydrates and freshens the mouth, it also leaves the mouth thin and dry, creating its own demand that is never possible to satiate. Such a realization was made too late.

With a resolve to clear this maelstrom of thoughts with a sip of water, I made my move. I first had to break out of the comfort-induced landlock that my blankets had created. I rolled a bit to the side with great mental will, and the entrenched comfort was disrupted. Now with the discomfort of a misplaced blanket nudging my hip, I scooted towards the nightstand. Propping myself up with my right arm, I lifted my body up; with the left, I picked up the massive ceramic container. By the time I removed the rubber lid, the hurtful reality injured my mind and presented a painful conundrum: I forgot to fill the water.

Any man who has lived should be able to tell the general level of water in their cup by two methods. One of weight, and another of angle. They should know the weight of their cup when empty and compare with the filled weight. An easy feat to do with a lightweight cup, a more difficult calculation with an oversized ceramic mug. As for angling, my head and heart sank alongside the angle of the cup, and my mind chugged. At an extremely low angle, the water finally met my lips. I took a small sip, conscious of the scarcity of this precious resource that I have. But having tasted ambrosia, I would not be content with such a menial amount. I took another sip, and a third, before the fear took over and I set the cup down. The thought of morning dawned on me: I would need water in the morning as well, the moment I would wake up. The half-functional mental engines, wreaked by caffeine and partial hydration, were to churn out a solution.

The most obvious solution was to simply take the mug downstairs and refill it there. A simple task; if not accounting for the laziness of my character, and the unfulfillable strength, mental and physical, to trudge through, braving cold and exhaustion, just to fill a heavy mug of water. The second solution, one that I have been using since childhood, was to make the much shorter trip across the hall and accost my grandma for help. I would tell her about my need for water, then return to bed, with her following shortly after and obtaining my cup for her slow trip for my water. That was the past, and the me of today would not have the moral depravity to wake the old being from her earned rest just to satiate my sinful needs.

By now, my need for water was so great that it had become another source of insanity. Another topic for my caffeine ridden mind to run circles around. In another act of great mental strength, I mustered the will to get up, walk to the bathroom, and take a much unnecessary and lackluster urination. Upon returning, I was emboldened and energized by this action. Rather than the logical solution of taking another leap in exiting this sleep-possible state and going downstairs to refill my cup, I considered a third possibility: my brother’s cup.

My brother also brings water up every night but unlike me, does not drink it. As such, I saw it acceptable to commit thievery of such a commodity and consume it for my own sanity’s survival. However, one thing kept this plan from enacting. My brother was not a great connoisseur of water, or a proponent of water purity. His cup may be ridden with distasteful molds or offending foreign substances of great malevolence to taste. To drink no water, was a better alternative than to drink from a poisoned well, knowing fully well of the sufferings it implies. But desperation is a powerful driver of forces, and like a phantom, I hovered over my brother in his torpid state.

For some unreasonably reasonless reason beyond reason, he stows his cup above his head, on the bed board shelf. Such placement I will neither debate nor discuss, as it is of great disgust. Back to the events of the present, rather, in past reality, I took the cup, and shifted it to be level with mine, preparing the transfer of fluids. Before performing such a procedure, I stuck my nose in his cup and took a slow but strong whiff, so as to detect any potential candidates for aborting this procedure. No smell permeated the parameters, and I deemed it safe to consume. Pouring the water into my cup, finger slightly below the lip so as to catch any rebellious liquid wanting to wet the surrounding environment, I took about half his water. Then, after closing both containers, I returned his cup, and myself, the former in its wrongful, yet correct location, and the latter in its correct, yet wrongful position. The sheets have been displaced, and nothing can place it back to its original state. But the deed has been done, and the water has been thieved. Yet my need for water subsided inconveniently.

Looking back on this, as I sip my water at 4:12 am, caffeine was the catalyst of such, and all events preceding and succeeding. What was thought to be an innocent can of cold brew led to insanity and moral contemplation, and from henceforth, caffeine's ramifications were to be considered serious and lethal to my good sleep and health.