it's 9:30 pm, on February 09, 2006 - bath.

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Faithful Diaryland tells me that I updated 23 hours ago. maybe I can keep up this every 24 hours routine. Vaguely on that subject: I was thinking about ways I could redo this journal format to better reflect the way I'm trying to use it now - slightly different, potentially not to all zero of you reading it, but slightly different to me nonetheless. I've decided just as soon as I have the time I need to rename it "who reads the fucking memoir when you're dead, eh?"

Taking-part-of-the-authentic-world thought of the day: I'm not really one to relax in the bath much. I mean, I know people who swear by it, say that it makes them feel a thousand times better, but I don't really get that way. Mostly I get bored, sitting in rapidly-cooling water, staring at my legs that always look much larger under the water.

But here's what I do like about the bath: running your hands underwater, along the ceramic or plastic tub, and dislodging the thousands of teeny bubbles that've attached themselves to it - then watching them bob up to the surface in hordes. The tub feels different, underwater, the bubbles tingle a little against your skin, and you can focus on the tactile sensation of air and water against your fingertips.

I had a similar experience once at work, running my palm up and down the brick wall. It was as if my skin had never quite worked properly, and for a few seconds it did, and felt sensations that I didn't know I'd been missing until I touched the wall. Like for my entire life I'd been only using part of my fingers, and then the rest of my skin suddenly woke up briefly, reached out to the world, and drank it in.

Mostly, though, the bath serves to make me slightly soggy, and warmer. Which is pretty nice too.

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bruise - June 29, 2015

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