Returning to the bathroom with everything stashed in bucket, Yu discovered that tackling the floor with a wiper cloth was an utter pain. The cloth was meant to collect dirt or spread moisture, not drink half a lake. It did absolutely nothing. After several pointless rounds of trying to empty that metaphorical lake one miserable sip at a time, Yu realised he could have used the towels. The ones he had just taken downstairs. The big ones. The ones that had soaked up so much with barely any effort. But instead of using them to get rid of all the mess, he had wrung them out — to add to the flood he was now fighting.
When that thought finally hit him, it hit so hard it echoed. Yu could not for the life of him figure out why he had not used them. It was so obvious. Easy. Efficient. Borderline intelligent. But no — he had taken them downstairs first, because that had been the easiest thing to do, in that moment. It mad Yu realise that he worked like an idiot who did tasks in the order he came up with them, with no plan whatsoever.
And still, even now, fully aware of his own idiocy, Yu could not make himself go back downstairs. Yes, it would be faster. Yes, it would solve the entire disaster in minutes. But no, despite all that, Yu kept flinging the same useless scrap of a rag over the stone tiles and then ringing it over the sink with both wings, trapped in an endless loop of inefficiency, which did not lessen the water on the floor at all, which made no difference at all no matter how often he did it, which accomplishing absolutely fucking nothing. The floor remained a stupid, shallow, stubborn sea.
It was stupid.
What Yu was doing.
It was so stupid.
It was not ignorance, this self-inflicted incompetence. Not anymore.
Yu knew it was stupid.
It was many things, but not ignorance.
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