10 years of my life gone. Stirring the pot of hot chicken soup I thought back if I had really achieved anything or just matured? Pandemic of 2020 had stirred up the dormant dreams. I was overthinking more than the usual. My middle-aged rustic heart continued beating rhythmically with my deep long breaths. Well, there was one thing I had mastered at least, breathing. I felt a tingle in my lower abdomen as I continued to stir the pot. The stirring led to serving followed by feeding and cleaning. I don’t mean to sound ungrateful, but I was tired of this routine. My aching bones were screaming too loud tonight, but my mind was made up. I was not going to give in. It had been over two weeks since the last time. The last time I was alone with myself.

Every day was like living in a bed & breakfast that was always open for service. The one where I was the proud owner, chef, cleaner, busboy and waiter. With yet another year dragging by I had picked up some new deploring habits. The one I excelled in these days was procrastinating. I must let you know, I am the queen of procrastination. And thankfully, there is a lack any competition at home right now. I have creativity oozing out of my nose, eyes, and ears but somewhere all the time I give in to that voice constantly whispering, “You are not good enough.” She and I have had the longest relationship so far. And I am quite certain we will grow old together. As the last of the dirty dishes were loaded in the dishwasher for their nightly hot shower, I sighed with sheer emptiness. The lights turned off and kids went to bed to rest their innocent minds, while I woke up mine.

I made the bold decision to do this for myself. Afterall, I deserved my me-time as well. A warm relaxing night with my withering mind and the woman inside it. Tonight, I decided on a hot steamy one. I loved the warm muggy smell of the steam, it was my favorite kinds. And I preferred to do it late night, without any constant disturbance. It was also the only time I could watch Netflix on a volume appropriate for human ears. Tonight was going to be something in foreign language. It always interested me how the F word was spoken in different languages. And so, it was all set. I was going to ignore my aching 36 years old bones and start my very special night-time activity. My hand moved slowly dancing back-and-forth sometimes moving in circles. I liked to mix it up. I kept my hand steady and my grip tight but gentle. You need really good hand-eye coordination for this. The smell of the steam engulfed my senses. My legs felt the pinch but they too quietly witnessed the slow but determined back-and-forth movement.

In the quietness of the basement with the hot iron in my hand gracefully dancing over the wrinkles, I watched 2 episodes of DARK.

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