Sometimes I don’t feel like taking a shower.
It’s not that I’m smelly because that rarely happens, but there are times especially after a long weekend when a shower feels like. . . starting over, washing away the sheen of sweat from being outside or the bits of dirt still under my fingernails from planting.
Good weekends tend to layer things on. An extra hour of sleep messes up my hair, garlic from a delicious salad lingers and I am slower. I forget to achieve anything more than figuring out which size Tupperware will hold all the just-cut cantaloupe.
There are weekends it doesn’t matter if my pants match my shirt, or if my youngest is awake and ready. Weekends, downtime, are special and sometimes I don’t want to let them go.
Showers feel great. It is nice to scrub up shiny, especially if I have to go out in public. But the marinade of time spent with those who don’t care, in my home oblivious to which earrings or the location of my phone, is always missed.
I have to go out into the real world today, so into the water and suds I go. I will watch as the residue of my resplendent weekend circles the drain. I will oil and lotion and put on mascara. Pull out something clean to wear and maybe even add some color to my lips, but after all of the suddenly important things of the week are tended to, I will long for the layers, the barefoot warmth of another weekend.
My thoughts from the laundry room. Snooze Button.