Comfort.

Last I checked, it's somewhere around 1:55 am and I can't sleep for the life of me. Maybe it's this bed, the heat, the cold, not enough room- I can't find comfort.

Careful not to disturb the soul sleeping soundly to my right, I gather my necessities.

Ponytail holder & 1 bobby pin.

Bible.

Bubble bath.

And a towel.

I creep down to the basement, checking the other bedroom on my way-there's life though it's asleep. I reach my destination, open the door, close and lock it. Turn the faucet on, plug the drain, squeeze the body wash directly into the streaming water and watch the current drag bits and pieces of thick liquid to the center of the tub. Some bubbles materialize and I step away to the mirror to examine the new, unexplainable red dots spread across my torso. How odd..

I step in and sit still and watch the water rise. I've never been in this tub, and I don't like it, but it will do. It is sterile, there is no comfort. I turn the faucet to the left for more heat. It burns my feet, but I like the way it feels when it reaches my arms, so I will endure. I make attempts to pray, but my mind is clouded with other things to think about. I'm dead tired, but can't find sleep, so I'm down here in this tub. I try again with prayers.

At this mental stand still, I realize what exactly I'm doing. It's somewhere past 2 in the morning and I am alone in a sterile bathtub in an empty basement. I should be finding peace, but instead I'm sitting here making analogies from the heat of the water. That's my comfort- Analogies. I sit alone in hot water, unable to sleep, trying out new analogies between life and burning H2O that is engulfing my body.

This is the part that I would like to add "Really?" and end the paragraph, but the truth is that that is very typical me, so I can't quite end it so sarcastically this time.

I turn off the water but don't unplug the drain-I have plans to return. Grab a towel, and creep back upstairs. The T.V. that was on in the other room is now off and everything is darker. I grab what I think I need and return to my sterile, barely visited abode. I sit beside the full tub and type this because -somehow- I believe releasing this will bring me my much needed comfort and peace. Plan B is that it will waste enough time for me to discover drowsiness again.

For now, I suppose I'll go finish my story. Goodnight, World.