there's an old iron lionfoot tub in the bathroom of my new (well, month-old) apartment. a sanctuary.
after i got back from nancy's funeral i felt so beat up and worn and awful. i tried talking to ca about the funeral and what her death has had me thinking about but i'm not good at expressing things like that and he didn't really know what to say, but he sat and was patient and he listened to the little i could say and a lot of weepy sighing. and that's all i needed. and i love him for trying.
he did give me a good piece of advice, told me to go and draw a bath and take care of myself and try and relax.
so i brought my little round cdplayer into the bathroom and locked myself in, poured in some sea salt and filled the tub with the hottest water i could stand. the tub is deep and i just kindof sunk in and submerged myself under the water and stared at the ceiling. listened to deadcandance. not sure if that's morbid or not. hung my feet out the side of the tub. smoked a cigarette. thought about everything, then tried to think about nothing. lost myself in bubbles and soap and the music and hot water and let things melt. watched the steam collect on the mirror above the sink. soaking, skin wrinkling, purification, scrubbing the past few days off.