A Beer and a Bath

Laura just disappeared,beer in hand,to her tub. And I have never been so jealous.
We have to move.
Sitting in the shower does not make it a bath...not even with a few lit candles.

Back in the house, I would take baths for everything. If I was cold, if I was cramping, if I had a headache, if I was too lazy to stand in the shower.

But really, I miss the stillness of it. I can't lay in bed and relax. I have to read, which means I should be reading media law or something British. I have to turn on the TV, but only to keep flipping the channels in case something better comes on.
But with a bath...I am still. I listen as the water tumbles and swirls around me. I am warmed and my brain is sidetracked by the thundering drops; what headache? what cramps?
I am off the hook for not being productive--because I am. I'm soaking my skin in bubbly, almond goodness. I'm allowed to be still, and productively unproductive until I am over-heated and wrinkled.

I need a tub.
But all I have is a beer.