Kneeling in the slowly rising water, hearing only the roar of the faucet, feeling only the tickle of the water as it as it crawls up your skin, daring yourself to see how long you can keep your eyes closed.

Will the water be too low, causing you to have lost the additional time to contemplate life as you now focus instead on the water's edge, counting how much time was lost to your fear.

Or will it be too high, nearing the overflow drain, causing you the displeasure of lying down slower and more carefully, to avoid spilling water over the side, and hearing the annoying gurgle as the overflow devours your wasted resources.

Or can you calculate it just right, where you've accounted for the water pressure, both by memory and by volume, that right when you open your eyes, you can calmly reach forward and grasp the knobs, turn them off at exactly the right speeds as to feel the enjoyment of the hot and cold resist further turning at the exact same time, regardless of how differently they were set.

You lie back and feel the gentle caress of the water as it quickly climbs over the final sweep of dry skin, not so fast as to cause unnecessary splashing, as this would rob you of those spots of skin, now moistened, from feeling a perfect meniscus of water hungrily devour the 'dry', a once great empire, having had full, unopposed rule over the entirety of your skin. The feel of that empire, crumbling before the unopposable might of the 'wet', obliterating the dry, and banishing it to the last bastion of hope. The last fear.

Will she dunk her head beneath the surface of the water and destroy the dry? Will she do it quickly and doom the dry to oblivion in one fell swoop, or will she slowly lower her head, feeling the dry crawl ever upwards, trying to escape? Trying to find more dry land, but knowing there is none? Crawling up the sides of the face, past the ears. The ear canals quickly seal with water, effectively cutting off outside sound. As the back of her head slides down the smooth porcelain, the water creeps ever upwards, scaling the cheeks, pushing the dry into a smaller and smaller space. The eyes go under, as she breathes gently through her nose. The final pillar of dry. She holds her breath. A moment of hesitation.

Or will she keep her head dry this time? How clean is her hair? Can she go without washing it? Will she want to keep some of the dry, to make for a faster overall drying, and a quicker retreat to the bedroom where warm blankets and fuzzy slippers await? Will she want to keep her pillow dry, so as to not be wet when falling asleep, perhaps dampening BOTH sides of the pillow! Will she do it for the pillow? For the glorious, dry, fluffy pillow?

So... have you judged how open the spigot is? Have you set the temperature well enough as to be able to go the entire fill without readjusting? Where's the water now, how quickly is it rising? Do you remember where the surface of the water sits in relation to the overflow accurately enough that you will be able to turn off the water at exactly the right time, such that when you lie down, the water will sit at exactly the right level for you? Because when you open your eyes, you get to decide the fate of an empire.

tl;dr: I like baths.