Water is the new Black

During this past week (and a half) of unemployment, the bathtub has become my new recliner. Bathing is a luxury I have always appreciated but in the past year, have had rarely a chance to enjoy. So I figure now that I have the time, I should make use of the resources.

Not that I spend all day in the bathtub, mind you. No, just an hour this day and thirty minutes that day. It varies. The temperature varies; sometimes I take a really really hot bath but am not in for long, other times I'll take a cooler bath but stay in longer. I have an arrangement worked out with my water heater; when the bath water starts to chill, I can drain it half way and refill with a new run of dangerously hot water. Should I run out of hot water, it takes about 20 minutes for the water heater to restock. This is when it sends out the best hot water, for it is freshly heated and at its hottest.

I always turn off as many lights from surrounding rooms as I can to make the bathroom dark and cozy. But I don't want to be in pitch blackness, so I always have a candle lit. This provides an ample opportunity for meditation. I can either zone out on the candle's small flame, or I can contemplate the ironic combination of water and fire. My fascination with heat is not unknown and manifests itself in my life regularly through fire and water. A bath is my attempt to combine both without one destroying the other; it's a practice in elemental cooperation.

Today's bath was accompanied by Malice Mizer, the latest issue of Rolling Stone, and a lilac-scented candle as well as a cup of tea. Given that the bathroom was dark, the candle stayed in the corner by my head, which added a dangerous aspect as my hair could have caught fire any minute. (Honestly, my hair was up in a messy bun and wasn't even close to the flame, so no worries.) Its flickering light was hard to read the tiny-print magazine by, but I managed. My tea, which had seemed intolerably hot before I immersed myself in water, thence felt a little bit cooler in comparison. It was easy to forget the world outside as I found a comfortable position and fandangled the large-sized publication into complacency while keeping it water-free. By the time I emerged I was not only rested but informed, and hungry. Forcing your body to tolerate extreme temperatures can make one famished.

Half the time when I get out of a good hot bath, I am quite wobbly. Due, of course, to reclining in a tub of hot water then suddenly standing in cool air. This is probably more dangerous than the candle by my hair but I've always managed. It's always fun to watch the steam rise up off my still-damp skin. I wonder what my body temperature rises to; moreso, I wonder just how hot that water really is. I want to test it one of these days, although the answer will probably shock me. A temperature of 91-94° F; a hot bath 113-117° F. This inspires my competitive spirit: ha, I can beat that!