Dwindling

Dwindling

The best thing about getting a bath is feeling the water drain around me. I grow slowly colder until the last drop of warmth is sucked away. If it stayed warm, I would never leave. I would make my bath into my bed. I’d probably drown. But it would be a cozy drowning. I threw weird bath salts in the tub tonight and I think they had rosemary mixed with the lavender. I wonder if I would make a good broth?

I should write

I should write

Stupid blank pages.

I have zillions of unfinished stories rolling in my head but not are good enough to put on paper. I just tell them to myself at stoplights or while cooking dinner.

Dirty little tales of sex, submission and sometimes submarines.

Can you imagine submarine sex?

I think you would bonk your head often and it might echo weird.

I should write, something. But I won’t.

Work, Worry, and Weariness have made me paper thin. A crabby shell of my former merry kitten self.

I take many baths.

I wish I was a fish.