Bath

So I just took my first oatmeal bath in an attempt to soothe my spots. The spots creep ever-upward. They have now gained the territory of the torso, reaching the stomach, breast, upper back. It's like a gradient. They are most prevalent at the ankles and calves and then thin out-and-up.

MY OATMEAL BATH EXPERIENCE

First of all, consider the name: colloidal oatmeal. I thought: spheroid, toroid, ... it's shaped like a colon? I knew that wasn't right but the word colloidal was intriguing. Googling the etymology gives you

1847, from Fr. colloide (1845), from Gk. kolla "glue" + -oeides "form"

It's a type of suspended solution.

Secondly, the packet. Made by Aveeno Active Naturals. It looked like the type of oatmeal packet where you'd microwave it for breakfast. Which led to my third fleeting thought can I eat this? No. For external use only. In bold type. Directions: Turn warm water faucet on to full force. Slowly sprinkle packet of colloidal oatmeal directly under the faucet into the tub or container. Stir any colloidal oatmeal settled on the bottom. The writers of the package copy liked the word colloidal too.

I turned on the faucet, sprinkled slowly at first and then got impatient and sort of dumped it in. It smelled like (surprise!) oatmeal. The clumps --of course there were clumps b/c I was impatient --looked like cat vomit. I tried not to think about that as I reached down and unclumped them with my fingers. They felt like warm velvety goop and dissolved as soon as I touched them.

As I slid into the tub I wondered about my new ink and soaking it. For two weeks, no sun, no soaking, no pools. Soaking opens the pores and compromises the ink or something. Then I remembered that I marked 8/31 in my planner as TATTOO HEALED TODAY.

August 31 was also my mother's birthday.

Oh dear God I just said was. Fuckshitfuck. Not was was. Just was, as in, it happened yesterday. Not that it never will happen again. Not what I meant. She's 66 now.

I did not call her.

At the time of our recent goodbye I told her I'll call you in a few days. If you're up for talking we'll talk. She smiled and said okay sweetie. There were tears in her voice but her voice is one that sounds like there's always tears in it.

I did not want to call her until after the Prosody taping was over. Now it's over. I should probably call her tonight.

I told my brain not to think about that.

So into the tub. I stretch into a forward-fold and scrutinize my legs. Today a new friend made a reference to something that happened in 2002 but you were probably still in your crib. I replied fake-indignantly, pshosh! I'll have you know they send babies to grad school now. I started grad school in '02. She : are you thirty-five? Me :  thirty-seven. She : you look twenty ____. Some number I didn't hear. Well, from the hips up I might look twenty-mumbles, but from the hips down I look my age and more. Mottled pink-gray-pink. Lots of varicosities and knots, bruises, blue stripes and swaths. And of course, the recently arrived constellations of spots. The mess on the back of my left ankle that I've named Clusterfuck. The one in the bend of my left knee that I named Sammy.

Then: damn, this tub is shallow. Hotel tub. Who knew it was more shallow than the one at my house? I pretzeled my legs underneath me and submerged my head to the point where the water was over my ears. My thighs, knees, and the top surface of my torso still stuck out. Chicken, get in the pot. I couldn't get myself into the pot.

I looked up. Towel rack. White towels. The deliciously scratchy kind. My hair floated around me. I thought what if the spots come up on my scalp. I briefly fantasized about shaving my head. I remember what that felt like. The divine feeling of quarter-inch-long head stubble. I thought about my natural hair color, which is sort of an ashy brown. Which made me think about how my mom, for the first time since I've known her, has her natural hair, with no processing of any kind. It's actually really beautiful. She had it straightened when I was there, or perhaps merely straight. Cut into a tidy little bob. The color a deep nut-brown with streaks of gray in her long bangs and at her temples. Little threads at her part. I think it was the most beautiful I've ever seen her hair.

I wondered if it would fall out, now that she's starving.

I told my brain not to think about that.

I looked up at the towel rack again. I wished I was at home with music in my tub where the water will cover more of me. I absently sloshed water over my exposed torso. With my ears underwater I could hear a deep hhrrrummm hhhrrruuumm. This room abuts a service elevator. Distant noise of people talking, moving crap around. I begin to sing very softly I hear the roar of a big machine / hot metal and methedrine / I hear your dive bombers / empire down. Well, at least all those words are in the song anyway. More of me sloshing. I wonder if the guys talking can hear me sloshing like I can hear them talking. I wonder if they wonder if I wonder if the-----

The water got cool too fast. I sat up, drained the tub. Some colloidal cat vomit had streaked and plocked onto the bottom of the tub. I was like eeeewwww and wiped that up. I didn't want the housekeeper coming tomorrow and thinking sheesh what drunks or something. Only later did I realize there would be one if not two showers taken by the time the tub was cleaned.

[I think too much about what other people think about me.]

I compromised a white towel with some red hair dye. Oops.

I leave stains everywhere I go I told my brain not to think that.

BOTTOM LINE:
Bathing is relaxing.
Sloshing is relaxing.
My lower back and hip muscles feel better.
My skin feels extra soft.
But also prickly and itchy.
Deeper tub next time.