57.

I finish cleaning and tightening the hammock up properly in relatively short time. I have no idea what time it was when I woke up. I have no idea what time it is now. I fish out some not clean, but not recently worn clothes out of my bag. I head up stairs and go exploring. I start opening doors till I eventually find the bathroom. The whole thing makes me think of last night, being the big prize winner on the game show. I smirk and laugh to myself. Nobody else seems to be home. The house creeks and farts with every step I take. It aches and shifts and moves like a living thing and I love it for it. I'll name you Hugo. Hugo the house. The bathroom door is probably three times as old as me and it has the shittiest lock I've ever seen. I hold my weight against the door to try and close it as much as possible. I turn the old brass knob hoping its properly locked, but I don't even really know if it is. I give the shitty latch the stink eye, I feel betrayed.

"Don't you understand that when you see a lock, you're instantly given this sense of security? Of dependability and reliability? But I can't trust you! I don't know who to trust."

I'm very disappointed in the lock. Hugo has problem areas that need toning. I close the toilet lid and throw my clothes down on top. I shed my sweaty layers and plop them down on the floor. They hit with a moist slap. I stand naked and I'm disappointed in myself. Nothing extra disappointing, just the normal sort of disappointment I'm sure every person feels when they look at themselves completely.

I'm too (blank).
Not enough (blank).

I'm only a few minutes into my self-loathing when my better judgment takes over and I remember all the wonderful things people keep in bathroom cabinets. I rethink the phrase better judgment.