A BATH

I take a bath.

I take a hot bath because it helps with circulation.

My legs are continually frigid even in the warmest of weather.

This is peculiar to me, as my legs, my body, have always been oven hot.

I soak my cold legs and read "The Power of Now" by Eckart Tolle

(about giving into the moment, about trying to stop thinking - is what it is about so far).

I'm in the tub and my front door is ajar.

Why you ask?

It's how I want to live, I answer.

It's a feeling about (how life should be) that I'm partial to.

The needs of my soul?

Jackie (my sitcom neighbor) pokes her head in the front door.

"hellooooo? Charlie?"

"Come in, I'm in the tub."

The bathroom door is wide open.

Jackie marches straight over to the bathroom and and I put a loofa over my private parts.

"Jackie! Don't come in so far!"

 "Oh why?! You're like a son to me! We don't care about that kind of thing in my family. You're like a son to me!"

And since I have a fatal disease, I release my propriety. I change character on a dime. I  give in to full frontal. I give in, and Jackie (who could care less) ...

Jackie and I have a conversation about the ORSO I have cooking on the stove, her sister, who is a shy nurse visiting from out of town, and the Beales of Grey Gardens.

Jackie lent me the dvd of the documentary the other night.

"So are they crazy or what? I mean there is something wrong there, living in that trash...  I mean who lives like that,  except terribly mentally ill people? Don't you think?"

Jackie shakes her head and stomps her foot to make an impression on me, to make me see how MUCH this disturbs her.

"But you know what? I kind of get it, Jackie. I mean, they weren't raised to pick up after themselves, and they had some rotten stuff happen to them that they just weren't equipped to handle. I mean, I could see just letting go... living in my dilapidated mansion, eating out of take-out cartons, feeding the cats and squirrels.  After awhile, you just give in and embrace the day."

"They could have put up some curtains or something!  They could have called John or Ted Kennedy!

Those were good men, they would have helped!"

Jackie smiles when she says this, like she found the answer, that had SHE been in their shoes, things would have been different.

"Well, I guess I can see why they didn't call the president or leave that place. After  awhile, you're just holding down the fort, trying to hold onto what you got. You just don't want to risk anything." - thinking of myself, thinking of myself in my little world on the ninth floor of River Place, having not left the apartment in three days.

The timer has gone off.

I lie in the warm tub and Jackie checks on my ORSO.

"It's done, but Charlie, I can't turn the buzer off.

See? That's MY mental deficiency. I have no understanding of how these things work."

(Jackie has the same kitchen as mine but doesn't use it much).

"That's okay, leave it. I'll get it later."

And so the buzzer buzzes,  Jackie leaves, and I meditate about this moment.