depreciation they claim

Bath Bomb

I've been sick for what seems like ever. I just put out a candle by coughing.

It's seems a majority of my time is spent in the bath, which seems romanticized and relaxing but for me has become so routine, I'm alarmed.

I've reached two baths a day, one for the purpose of getting clean and the other really to just soak in the lavender stew and braise my thoughts from the day.

I'd say nearly every part of this story was composed in a bathroom, and that is fact.

I wish the bathroom was more acceptable to spend time in more often, it's so private and peaceful that I find I love spending time in it more than most places in my home. The change of scenery is nice from my bedroom and I can light the whole room with but three candles. It's just really cozy.

The "snowmagedon" storm and my ailments make good excuses to stay warm and encased in bubbles day after day for these few weeks, so I figure why waste it?

It's a different kind of relaxation in a bath than in a bed. Probably because I've linked my bed with sadness and sleepless nights whereas my bath is warm days and herb garden smells. I love it here.

My mind is always so awake in the setting, it makes it so helpful to write. But then again, I do wonder how I've become so introverted. My alone time has always been relished but not as much as the past few months.

I'm not avoiding you, I'm just, I'm all I need right now. I can't quite place it. I experience moments of udder extroversion and then retract quickly for long. I suppose I'm an ambivert. Who the hell cares, it's still peculiar as hell.

Until I want to hang I'll be in my bath, probably writing a listening to Moose Blood wondering why I don't want to leave.