happy mundane

This might seem too utterly irrelevant to even be worth mentioning, but I just took a bath. Not to imply that I am a hygiene-impaired, lost minion of the black lagoon whose natural odour is of so esteemed a rankness that it is sought out by the nouveau-Indiana-Joneses of this world to imbue their 47-ingredient black-magic potions with the kind of stain removing power that you can only find in Persil Non-Biological (said potions are usually volunteered by an exceptionally cunning and ugly witch who lives in a dark cave on the Kindia plains of Guinea with too highly sophisticated an appreciation of schadenfreud for her own good - seen my birth-mother lately? Call me.).

Only that I've managed to shower almost exclusively for much of these last two years, and had forgotten how relaxing it can be to sit in a pool of scalding water and to stew in your own filth for half an hour. It has left me exhausted, but my aching muscles feel so much better; good medicine begins at home. It looks like an early night is in order.