Last night I found myself with a disarming amount of time left to myself. It was a heady luxury I am not often given chance to enjoy. I had dishes in the sink, and laundry to be done, work to finish, some writing to do… but I happened across a tub of olive oil hair mud and I decided ti was time to treat myself. Mainly because I had also touched the skin on my face and noticed it felt like sandpaper (ugh).
So, I pulled out the olive oil hair mud, my super expensive shampoo and conditioner samples, my facial scrubs, my facial masks and proceeded to fill up my bath with hot, hot, hot water.
I set my iPad off to the side and pulled up the Netflix app.
Now, normally I would get myself a glass of red wine to accompany me through the luxurious journey on which I was about to embark. But, I gave up alcohol for lent, so I prepared a nice BIG cup of hot peppermint tea with cream and honey.
I lit candles, started my show, and got in the water.
|Not my actual tub, but this is how I like to do this, April gets it|
That moment when I was all in, when I leaned back against the back of the tub, when I just let go… was fabulous. I looked at the way the candlelight reflected of the water, and my skin and felt beautiful. I sat in the tub for 40 minutes just listening, being quiet, occasionally glimpsing the movie playing off to my side. I was as present for that bath as one can get. I was mindful of the luxury of something like this in my over-watered desert. I considered the molecules and how the fatty acids were reacting with alkali (way too simple of an explanation, but its base is there).
I reached a point when I was content, in the way that contentment can be brief but completely satisfactory.
I reached for the hair and skin accouterments and proceeded to make my skin and hair silky smooth.
I washed and rinsed my hair and put some more hot water in the tub, and sat for another forty-five minutes.
It was the best two hours I have spent on myself in along time.
“I am sure there are things that can’t be cured by a good bath but I can’t think of one.”
~ Sylvia Plath, The Bell Jar