Bathing

I sit, cross-legged, while the water flows in, my belly reminding me to go to the gym, my breasts reminding me that gravity is a law, and the water rises, deliciously warm, maybe even hot.

I wash my face and neck (never forget your neck), filling the time while the water fills the tub. Finally, it’s deep enough to ease back, slide down onto my back with feet propped under the spigot, closing my eyes as I lean my head back, submerging it until just my nose, mouth, and chin periscope above the surface. The warmth of the water covers me, soothes me, settles my spirit into something resembling quiet, the bad feelings slipping away as I raise my head and open my eyes.

The feeling of being a lottery ticket, surface scratched off, declared a loser, and discarded with used Kleenex, empty medicine bottles, receipts, and cigarette butts leaves me for a moment as I notice the light dancing off the water onto the ceiling, the illuminations swirling ever faster in complicated patterns as I move the water with my legs.