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Describe a place or environment where you are perfectly content. What do you do or experience there, and why is it meaningful to you?
Word limit: 650
One scoop, two scoops, three heaping scoops of lavender-infused bath salts, strategically scattered throughout the piping water that fills the tub. One generous pump of vanilla-scented bath gel swirled to a frothing, foaming mixture. One foot, two feet into the scalding, steaming water filled basin. Legs, torso, chest all beginning to turn red from the intensity of the heat. Tingling in my toes and in my fingers. Now, I am content.
Before my adolescent discovery of the shower, the mere thought of boiling in my own broth would bring me to tears. I would have much rather kept the day's filth and grime on me than be forced to sit in the bathtub for a grueling half hour. The heat swirling atop the tub of water brought me to a state of lightheadedness and I nearly always fell asleep in the water. After waking to the sound of my own choking, my mother would recite her "you could have died" lecture, and I would be sent straight to bed. And so ended my bathing days.
As I matured I experienced increasing stress in combination with a lack of sleep. I'd realized that my showers weren't providing me with the intangible benefits my baths had. Though I didn't appreciate the nagging and punishments that would come from my actions in the bath, I did remember the hypnotic state baths induced. It was then that I had a small epiphany: my lack of sleep and resulting plunging state of wellbeing could be somewhat cured if I were to return to occasional bathing.
I have now come to terms with the state of lightheadedness I used to hate, and I truly appreciate its effects. The aroma of the lavender-vanilla liquid is almost intoxicating, causing a state of meditation to wash over me. Whether I have a classic novel in my hand or a mug of dark roast coffee on the tub's ledge doesn't matter. I could simply be reclining in the solid, molded porcelain of the comforting tub, memorizing the wavy texture of the ceiling. For the hour or two I'm soaking, I don't look into the future or relish the past. I've got my gaze fixed on the now, on how marvelous I feel at this very moment, in this very familiar tub. I never feel so content as when I'm in a hot bath.
A tranquilizing bath means escape. I allot myself this time to not only prune up my limbs, but to also forget. Bathing is my cure; I disregard whatever troubles were previously haunting me. While I tune out my own troubles, I focus on all there is to notice in my surroundings. I've met many a spider friend throughout my time in the tub who allow me to see the simplicity of life through their rudimentary actions. Maybe a hot bath won't cure some serious illness, I don't know. But I do know that when I am hurting, and when everyone else seems very far away, my bathtub is always there. I can only stand the stagnancy of paralyzed, stressed living for so long before I must bathe. Removing myself from the day's worries and placing myself into another world where I'm weightlessly floating feels rather purifying. A steaming bath is my holy water.
Word count: 546
Describe a place or environment where you are perfectly content. What do you do or experience there, and why is it meaningful to you?
Word limit: 650
One scoop, two scoops, three heaping scoops of lavender-infused bath salts, strategically scattered throughout the piping water that fills the tub. One generous pump of vanilla-scented bath gel swirled to a frothing, foaming mixture. One foot, two feet into the scalding, steaming water filled basin. Legs, torso, chest all beginning to turn red from the intensity of the heat. Tingling in my toes and in my fingers. Now, I am content.
Before my adolescent discovery of the shower, the mere thought of boiling in my own broth would bring me to tears. I would have much rather kept the day's filth and grime on me than be forced to sit in the bathtub for a grueling half hour. The heat swirling atop the tub of water brought me to a state of lightheadedness and I nearly always fell asleep in the water. After waking to the sound of my own choking, my mother would recite her "you could have died" lecture, and I would be sent straight to bed. And so ended my bathing days.
As I matured I experienced increasing stress in combination with a lack of sleep. I'd realized that my showers weren't providing me with the intangible benefits my baths had. Though I didn't appreciate the nagging and punishments that would come from my actions in the bath, I did remember the hypnotic state baths induced. It was then that I had a small epiphany: my lack of sleep and resulting plunging state of wellbeing could be somewhat cured if I were to return to occasional bathing.
I have now come to terms with the state of lightheadedness I used to hate, and I truly appreciate its effects. The aroma of the lavender-vanilla liquid is almost intoxicating, causing a state of meditation to wash over me. Whether I have a classic novel in my hand or a mug of dark roast coffee on the tub's ledge doesn't matter. I could simply be reclining in the solid, molded porcelain of the comforting tub, memorizing the wavy texture of the ceiling. For the hour or two I'm soaking, I don't look into the future or relish the past. I've got my gaze fixed on the now, on how marvelous I feel at this very moment, in this very familiar tub. I never feel so content as when I'm in a hot bath.
A tranquilizing bath means escape. I allot myself this time to not only prune up my limbs, but to also forget. Bathing is my cure; I disregard whatever troubles were previously haunting me. While I tune out my own troubles, I focus on all there is to notice in my surroundings. I've met many a spider friend throughout my time in the tub who allow me to see the simplicity of life through their rudimentary actions. Maybe a hot bath won't cure some serious illness, I don't know. But I do know that when I am hurting, and when everyone else seems very far away, my bathtub is always there. I can only stand the stagnancy of paralyzed, stressed living for so long before I must bathe. Removing myself from the day's worries and placing myself into another world where I'm weightlessly floating feels rather purifying. A steaming bath is my holy water.
Word count: 546
