I have been tired this week. I leave work tired, but thinking I'll "do things" when I get home. Instead, I eat, I nap, I read, I feel sluggish. Monday I went to an early dinner with friend K, during which I ranted about the drugging of the so-called mentally ill in a hospital for the criminally insane, so when I came home that night I felt it was okay to be tired. But yesterday and today I simply headed for the bedroom and slept, or almost slept, a cat here or there, distracting me. Today Bullet showed up late, landed in the clothes basket that is on my bed, and started to lick himself. I hadn't seen him last night or again this morning so I wondered where he'd gotten to, wondered if he were hurt. I touched the parts of him that his tongue was touching. He bit at me for my trouble. I could find nothing wrong and I even felt a bit disappointed.
Still tired, I decided to take a bath. I filled the tub with foamy bubbles, courtesy of a bottle of a bath and body wash with the peculiar name of "Quercus", that I had liberated from the Elrod house bathroom. Quercus, as we all know, means "oak", so I looked for some oak on the label, in the ingredients. No. None. Nevertheless, it makes good bubbles. As the tub started to fill I decided to enter it sideways, a trick I have recently begun to use. I sit on the edge of the tub, reach my hands behind me for support, and slide in, my legs overhanging the edge. It isn't as satisfying as sitting in a large deep tub would have been, the type I used once at the Elrod house, but it has the advantage of being an easier position for me to get in and out of. I have gone to ridiculous lengths getting myself out of tubs in the past and now, however I enter I do tend to leave the same way, by sitting sideways in the tub and pulling myself up to a sitting position on the edge, then standing. Less strain on the knees. It always makes me think of a show I saw on television, where a woman with cancer is learning different tricks for bathing herself.
While I was in there, reading - reading "Naked" by David Sedaris, sitting, mind you, naked in the tub, I heard some strange twinkly kind of music, sort of like a musical toy or maybe a cell phone gone mad. I strained to listen, in case it was in fact my cell phone, but it did not reveal itself to me. While I was listening there came a banging at the back door. The back door is directly opposite the bathroom door, close. I thought maybe I had inadvertently locked Paul out, so I yelled "Just a minute", grabbed a towel, and headed for that door, wrapped in towel and dripping with suds. I saw immediately that the door was unlocked. It wasn't Paul. James from next door called out, identifying himself. I said I was in the bathtub, he asked how "the reading" was going, referring to the hefty pile of documents from the Freedom of Information Act that he had loaned me, and I yelled I was reading it in between other "books". He said fine, we'd talk tomorrow. Thank heaven. How do you greet someone at a door with just a towel on, someone just a neighbor, and a gay one at that?
I got back into the tub but I wasn't up for much more there. It seemed funny that I had lazed around so long but the moment I was somehow awkwardly occupied, someone came to the door. I dried myself off and put my nightgown over my head. Lordy! It's no longer early evening. I still don't know what the ringing was.