Today, I plodded through the world: it was rainy, and I was tired with a virus slowly creeping into my body. Where does brightness come from on days like this? I had precisely this thought as I headed towards the floors of the hospital where I was supposed to be a compassionate, chaplain-like presence for people for a few hours. I stopped into the bathroom to wash my hands and gather myself. I gave my hands an extra scrub and glanced in the mirror to see if what I felt on the inside showed on the outside (luckily, no). I pushed the water taps closed, turned to retrieve a towel and saw this staring at me:

I laughed out loud (immediately wondering if the stalls were empty), and (silently this time) thanked this inanimate object for its touch of empathy. That’s right, bathroom towel dispenser: we’re both a bit broken today. And we are definitely out of batteries.