Better Days

Today was better.  You can tell because I am listening to the Ghostbusters theme, not Radiohead.

A long day, involving grown up things, and an early start.  (I am not great at early starts.)

By 5pm, I was begging for home time.  At 7:15pm, I was in a taxi imploding with delight at the twin thoughts of eating a lovely dinner and having a lovely bath, and I couldn’t decide which I wanted to do first, until I became afraid that my body was going to start ingesting its own internal organs.

The taxi driver took a wrong turn and I was infuriated because I just needed to be home.

So there was pizza.  And afterwards, a sacrificial Enchanter.  Again, the moment it hit the water, I felt a bit strange about it, it smelt like an orange left out too long in the sun, too sticky, too intense, like something had unbalanced in the universe.  Or maybe that was my brain.

Like I say, it was one of those days.

And I sunk in the bath, and it was lovely, and now I am not in the bath anymore, the smell is lovelier, like it needed to settle, and bind against my skin.  Then there was Pearl massage bar, which I surprised myself by selecting in the shop, because I tend to avoid simple floral smells.  In the shop, I caught a whiff of Turkish Delight.  When I unwrapped it tonight – wow, all the roses!

I wasn’t keen, but I dived in anyway, because god knows I have knots that need unknotting.  And I liked the rough-smooth texture, I liked pressing the stony pink bits against my skin, I am sure I am actually supposed to get someone else to do that bit, and then have sex with them.

But I didn’t, and I grew accustomed to the smell, and now I am out of the bath, I am sitting on the sofa and massaging my own shoulders in appreciation of the oils, and it feels warm and comforting, and I am ready for tomorrow, and I am still not having sex with anyone.


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