Upon the physical manifestation of my altar sits a pair of candles, flickering away with the scent of apples and cinnamon, filling the air with their sweet scent. Hints of lemon steeped through my herbal infusion tickle my taste buds, or what little remain after scorching them in hopes of that first sip of freshly brewed tea. Weak, I ponder the concept of soaking. Energy must be summoned to clean the tub, making it acceptable for a good, relaxing bath. I contemplate the ingredients to dump in the running water — salt, tea tree oil, scented soaps — to soothe my condition. I don’t like being congested, and I don’t like the sound of my scratchy, wheezy voice. Above all else, I hate feeling weak and tired, dizzy and faint. A pot of freshly made soup could help, but today I’ve relinquished dinner duties to a man who’s sole purpose for the day seems to be making me smile. A small smile spreads across my face as I realize he’s been most successful in his attempts. Who am I to complain if someone else wishes to wash the laundry? Busy work, that’s what it is. It’s busy work that prevents me from sitting here, being creative, attempting to show instead of telling. Attempting to bring forth that which is typically stifled in a sea of to-do’s and requests. I stare up at the candles, wondering if I’m up to the task of wiping down that tub. After a deep breath, I go forth to soak — to let my mind wander and daydream about healthier days.
Sounds like a good day; if you were feeling better that is.
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