The fizz started at sunset. Not from celebration. But from desperation.
I dumped the shock in like it owed me money. The water hissed. I cried.
Chapter One: The Guilt That Floated
I hadn’t tested in days. The strips were curled up in the shed, judging me silently from their plastic container. I knew better. I know better.
But life got loud. And the water got green.
Every time I looked at that pale foam circling the steps, it whispered, “Neglect.”
Chapter Two: Filter Shame And The Forgotten Deep Clean
The filter, my once loyal partner, was clogged with the sins of many Saturdays. Dead bugs. Pollen. A bandaid I refused to acknowledge.
I backwashed. Once. In May.
Now it groaned with every cycle, like it, too, wanted to give up. I let it.
Chapter Three: The Shock That Broke Me
They said “1 pound per 10,000 gallons.” I added three. Just to feel something.
The granules hit the water like an exclamation point. But nothing changed. The algae laughed.
I stood poolside in my oldest hoodie, gripping a bottle of test solution like it was a life raft.
Chapter Four: The Confession
“Dear Pool,” I whispered. “I have failed you.”
You deserved brushing. You deserved chemistry. You deserved care.
Instead, I gave you vibes and guesswork. I treated you like a part-time commitment. And you turned on me.
Fair.
Chapter Five: Redemption Rinsed In Chlorine
The next day, I woke up with purpose. I disassembled the filter. Scrubbed it like I was erasing my mistakes.
I vacuumed. I brushed the walls like I was scrubbing my soul.
I tested. I adjusted. I waited.
The pool began to clear, not just the water, but me.
Chapter Six: A Love Letter To Balanced pH
7.4. That perfect number stared back at me. And I felt something deep.
Relief.
Clarity isn’t always about seeing the bottom. Sometimes it’s about forgiving yourself for the cloudiness.
And promising to show up, twice a week. With test kits. And commitment.
Case Closed: Clarity, Finally
I still hear the chlorine fizz now and then. It reminds me not to ignore the small stuff. Because one skipped shock becomes a swamp.
One forgotten brush becomes a heartbreak.
This is my confession. My chaos. My chlorinated closure.
The pool is clear. And so am I.
Moral: If your pool looks like your mood, test both. And maybe clean your filter. Just in case.
