ceiling scenery
i kinda sorta finished my reflective english essay.
it looks as if i am writing again, surprisingly enough, so i thought i'd post it here for any criticism/feedback/comments.
I will always remember the ceiling of every bathroom I have ever taken a bath in. It's simply one of those little pleasures in life: a reminiscent quirk I will never be rid of. The ghostly white stucco, mother of pearl tiling, or terribly ancient-looking floral wallpaper - all of it will be permanently imprinted on my mind as if the very fabric of my being exists only as a part of those mosaic walls and the presence they have in my memory.
I run the water, letting it flow into the white, ceramic basin, as hot as it will possibly go. I like to feel like I am in a sauna or hot tub, - steamy and comforting - enveloped by the scalding water. The water must be hot enough to the point where it stings, if only just a little, when I take that first dip into the tub.
My toes turn pink, almost blushing at the initial caress of the sultry bath water. At the same time, my pores begin to open up, inviting the barely visible vapor to rid my body of anxiety and concern, along with the filth from a long day of work - a long day of life.
The steam settles over me like a thick fog upon a swamp. My hair - like a single lily pad hovering above the marsh - is floating lightly atop the water. I sink down further into the amazingly soothing warmth of the water, like a submarine upon its initial submersion. My eyes close automatically, as if to instigate some sort of release.
This is the point when I decompress. If only this feeling of comfort and calm could last forever.
The aroma of jasmine vanilla settles over me as some of the scented bubbles float nearer to my face. A hot bath just isn't the same without some sort of luxuriously sweet-smelling bubble bath. Something this calming must stimulate all of the senses. I want to envision the placidity, smell the tranquility, and embrace the quiet with my entire body.
I allow my stress and thoughts to subsequence my relaxation as my head slowly settles underneath the blanket of the now warm water. I feel like I am drowning, but in a good way. The kind of way you feel after admitting to a lie - like a huge weight has been lifted off of your chest. I feel at peace and at home; I never want to leave this sanctuary.
My head bobs to the surface and I open my eyes, gently rubbing off the excess droplets of water with my almost pruned finger tips. My gaze instinctively floats upward and I stare almost stupidly at the yellowed ceiling that veils my nude body.
I wonder how many others have viewed this same masterpiece before me: How many others have contributed to its beauty?
I focus in on every little detail: every crack, tiny cobweb, and texture that is spread out before me like a piece of art, a Polaroid that I file away within my photographic memory. I'll hold onto this moment; I'll save it for later.
I close my eyes, then open them rapidly, but only for a moment.
“This is how I remember.”, I tell myself, as if slightly reassured I will not lose this picturesque impression.
I am reminded of what my father told me, years ago: If you truly want to recall a specific image you see, do not stare at it. Keep your eyes closed, and open them only briefly - and very quickly - exactly like the shutter of a camera.
I smile coyly, as if I am the only one with this information.
I'm the visitor here; I'm the tourist. I'm only taking a break from the actuality that is my life. I need this escape, this release, to aid me in the act of decompression. I must be given a small portion of time, to just forget about my anxieties: my English essay that is due, my manager at work who won't give me a raise, and the rent that is due at the beginning of every month. So, allow me this private viewing of ceiling scenery - if only for a moment.
Everyone needs their home away from home. Everyone needs a break sometimes - a break from their lives, themselves. I don't get to go on a cruise nor do I have the money for a day spa: This is my haven, my little oasis away from all of the stress and hectic hours that make up my day, my week, my month. No one can find me here...
I am startled out of my trance by an irritatingly loud noise.
“Come on! You've been in there for almost two hours!”
It's my roommate. And to my dismay, he has obviously never heard of consideration of others.
I sigh, realizing that my vacation from reality is now over, and take one last whiff of tranquility before pulling the drain stopper. I hesitantly stand up, watching the water and dirt funnel down the drain, along with my sense of serenity.
I mumble obscenities under my breath, wrapping a dry towel around my body, as I open the bathroom door. The steam pours out of the room and I take a deep breath, watching as the steam carries away the peacefulness of the past two hours. - Welcome back to reality. Welcome back to life.
it looks as if i am writing again, surprisingly enough, so i thought i'd post it here for any criticism/feedback/comments.
I will always remember the ceiling of every bathroom I have ever taken a bath in. It's simply one of those little pleasures in life: a reminiscent quirk I will never be rid of. The ghostly white stucco, mother of pearl tiling, or terribly ancient-looking floral wallpaper - all of it will be permanently imprinted on my mind as if the very fabric of my being exists only as a part of those mosaic walls and the presence they have in my memory.
I run the water, letting it flow into the white, ceramic basin, as hot as it will possibly go. I like to feel like I am in a sauna or hot tub, - steamy and comforting - enveloped by the scalding water. The water must be hot enough to the point where it stings, if only just a little, when I take that first dip into the tub.
My toes turn pink, almost blushing at the initial caress of the sultry bath water. At the same time, my pores begin to open up, inviting the barely visible vapor to rid my body of anxiety and concern, along with the filth from a long day of work - a long day of life.
The steam settles over me like a thick fog upon a swamp. My hair - like a single lily pad hovering above the marsh - is floating lightly atop the water. I sink down further into the amazingly soothing warmth of the water, like a submarine upon its initial submersion. My eyes close automatically, as if to instigate some sort of release.
This is the point when I decompress. If only this feeling of comfort and calm could last forever.
The aroma of jasmine vanilla settles over me as some of the scented bubbles float nearer to my face. A hot bath just isn't the same without some sort of luxuriously sweet-smelling bubble bath. Something this calming must stimulate all of the senses. I want to envision the placidity, smell the tranquility, and embrace the quiet with my entire body.
I allow my stress and thoughts to subsequence my relaxation as my head slowly settles underneath the blanket of the now warm water. I feel like I am drowning, but in a good way. The kind of way you feel after admitting to a lie - like a huge weight has been lifted off of your chest. I feel at peace and at home; I never want to leave this sanctuary.
My head bobs to the surface and I open my eyes, gently rubbing off the excess droplets of water with my almost pruned finger tips. My gaze instinctively floats upward and I stare almost stupidly at the yellowed ceiling that veils my nude body.
I wonder how many others have viewed this same masterpiece before me: How many others have contributed to its beauty?
I focus in on every little detail: every crack, tiny cobweb, and texture that is spread out before me like a piece of art, a Polaroid that I file away within my photographic memory. I'll hold onto this moment; I'll save it for later.
I close my eyes, then open them rapidly, but only for a moment.
“This is how I remember.”, I tell myself, as if slightly reassured I will not lose this picturesque impression.
I am reminded of what my father told me, years ago: If you truly want to recall a specific image you see, do not stare at it. Keep your eyes closed, and open them only briefly - and very quickly - exactly like the shutter of a camera.
I smile coyly, as if I am the only one with this information.
I'm the visitor here; I'm the tourist. I'm only taking a break from the actuality that is my life. I need this escape, this release, to aid me in the act of decompression. I must be given a small portion of time, to just forget about my anxieties: my English essay that is due, my manager at work who won't give me a raise, and the rent that is due at the beginning of every month. So, allow me this private viewing of ceiling scenery - if only for a moment.
Everyone needs their home away from home. Everyone needs a break sometimes - a break from their lives, themselves. I don't get to go on a cruise nor do I have the money for a day spa: This is my haven, my little oasis away from all of the stress and hectic hours that make up my day, my week, my month. No one can find me here...
I am startled out of my trance by an irritatingly loud noise.
“Come on! You've been in there for almost two hours!”
It's my roommate. And to my dismay, he has obviously never heard of consideration of others.
I sigh, realizing that my vacation from reality is now over, and take one last whiff of tranquility before pulling the drain stopper. I hesitantly stand up, watching the water and dirt funnel down the drain, along with my sense of serenity.
I mumble obscenities under my breath, wrapping a dry towel around my body, as I open the bathroom door. The steam pours out of the room and I take a deep breath, watching as the steam carries away the peacefulness of the past two hours. - Welcome back to reality. Welcome back to life.