You are standing under the water longer than you need to, and I am so glad.
I know why. You have the second half of the argument running in your head, the one you didn't say out loud, and the water gives you somewhere to say it. You tilt your face up into it. You let it hit the back of your neck where the day sits.
You are, right now, doing the thing you will later call "not being productive," and I want you to know it was some of the best time you ever spent.
You will not always have this shower. This exact one, I mean. The tile with the chip in the corner you keep meaning to fix. The pressure that takes a second to warm up so you learn to wait, one hand under the stream, testing. The little clatter of the bottle when you set it down wrong.
You move somewhere else eventually. Good places, mostly. But you never quite get that same drum of water on your shoulders again, and it turns out that was a kind of home too.
So stay in another minute. Don't fix the tile today. Wait for the warm and enjoy the waiting. You are getting clean, sure. Mostly you are just being held by something for a while, and no one is asking anything of you, and that is rarer than you think.
Turn it off when you're ready.
There's time.