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In the past the longing was sometimes so great I forgot how demoralizing it is to try to bathe in my not-a-tub and kept making the mistake of getting in it and going through many agonies to try to proceed in any manner one could remotely connect with the concept of relaxation. The buddhas must love me because there is no video. To say it is unlovely and inelegant to bathe in my not-a-bathtub is gross understatement.
Tonight I took a completely different approach. I did not let my love of soaking in a monster clawfoot enter into my purpose. I went into my not-a-tub without the wish to do anything more than to soak one part. One very utilitarian objective, and small enough to be doable, even in this travesty of tubtude. Satisfaction was achieved. Narrow objectives make possible minor satisfactions.
Now I'm making myself a suitable brandy concoction so as not to lose this feeling of efficiency back into the ocean of my longing for my goddam exalted monster clawfoot tub.
EVEN when I lived in a woodshed in the north forty of a pot plantation, I had a goddam bathtub! I had a chic outhouse, and my tub was out in the yard, with hot and cold running hoses. I cannot believe I have stood for this so long! I must really have been sick... but, OMG, can't you just see my husband-hoarding neighbor stroking out if I put a clawfoot in my yard here? If just my bare feet freak her this badly, the full monte would be the end of her for sure. :o)
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28 March 2010
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