shower stalling

Every morning I solve all the problems of the world in my shower.

I stage great epic debates and arguments with the players in my life, I hold delegations with heads of state from particularly troubled regions of the world, I make movies, I write novels, I fantasize about sexual scenarios with boys real and imagined.

Loofas and body gel are the catalysts, the amanuenses of my scheming and plotting.  I conjure and scry in steam...

Once upon a time, when hangovers, nausea, and nicotine stains entered the tub with me, I took all this great working of water quite seriously.  It stayed with me as I toweled dry, as I shaved, as I peered blearily in the mirror asking who the hell I was on any given morning.

Now all my great adventures slosh nicely down the drain, right along with the soap scum, dead skin cells, and pubic hair. 

My showers are now sexual-cereberal-corporal mini-vacations.  I am a shampoo surfer.  A bubble bouncer.  And while the face in the mirror sometimes startles me still, even when I'm not sure I recognize who it is on the other side of the glass, I more often than not decide to like him anyway.

Passion, beauty, and love, folks--24 hours at a time...