It's not a big bathroom. The tub runs across the end of the room, under the window, where I have built a large wooden window seat for the cat. The sink is on the left-hand wall, the mirror is on the right-hand wall, and the toilet is behind the door. The original taupe ceramic-tiled floor was amateurishly covered before my tenure with black and white linoleum squares (same as is in my kitchen), which are now spotted with kitty litter and paint splatters from many coats of dingy ivory enamel. Overhead is your typical mold-spotted, pock-marked, spider-infested ceiling. It's a nondescript room, despite my attempt to describe it. The vortex appears to be on the wall just to the left of the toilet.
Time out while I go rescue a house fly. He looks a little groggy, like he's been batted about the forehead one too many times by a deceptively lazy cat.
Ok, now I'm back. Where was I? Oh, yeah. Energy vortex. My sister managed to survive three nights in the guest room at my mother's condo (which might be sort of like a small black hole, considering how it sucks life energy from visitors foolish enough to linger). She would have been welcome here, vortex or no. Maybe she wanted to avoid going home covered with cat hair and dust mites. Can't blame her. Maybe she just wanted to avoid hurting our mother's feelings. Whatever the case, she decided to brave the condo. The first night she was attacked by fleas. At least, we think they might have been fleas. Or maybe just one really energetic flea. I think a linen change resolved that issue.
My mother's condo gets only evening sun through one living room window. The master bedroom has one east-facing window smothered by huge pine trees. The rest of the place has a few small north-facing windows. So, what I'm saying is, the place is a cave. Maybe that is why my mother resembles a mole: She stays up late reading by one dim lamp or playing Castle Camelot in the dark. She sleeps late, swathed in fleece and slippers, buried in the dark depths of her huge bed. If she didn't snore occasionally, you wouldn't know she was there.
Maybe energy vortices run in my family. I never thought of that before. That could explain my mother's condo. Maybe that also explains the problem in my bathroom.
Here's the deal. I've had a battery operated clock on the wall next to my toilet for several years. I installed it while I was still working, when it was important to keep to a schedule. Now that it's not so important, I pay less attention to time, although I have battery-operated clocks in every room. One day a few months ago, I happened to notice the clock in the bathroom had gained time. Like, a lot of time. Twenty minutes of time. It's just a cheap battery-powered clock; I figured it had lost its clock mojo or something, although it seems to me that clocks usually lose time, rather than gain time. But what do I know about time? I installed a new battery, moved the hands back to the proper time, and hung it back on the wall. Within a few days, it had once again gained 20 minutes.
I took the clock off the wall and set it on the toilet tank, propped it against the wall. Weeks went by: It kept perfect time. I hung it back on the wall. Within a few days, it was 10 minutes ahead. That's when I started to think there might be something odd going on in my bathroom.
I'm guessing the neighbor also has a vortex in her bathroom, right on the other side of the wall. I know by the sound of her toilet flushing that not much space separates our facilities. Maybe she's hung a large magnetic bathroom ornament on the wall, directly opposite my clock. If I see her, I'll ask. In the meantime, I'm going to hang the clock on a different wall and see what happens.
I just Googled "battery-operated clock gaining time" and found out I'm not alone. Other people have encountered the mystery. A few offered some lame explanations. The last commenter said, "Maybe you are at the nexus of the universe or something." I like that idea. Maybe my bathroom is at the nexus of the universe. Or something. I can think of worse places to be.
