-- Thursday, February 24, 2000 --

3:10 a.m. Well, I have to quick! select a fabulous photo from my quickly dwindling supply and quicker still! write something I can be proud of with the photo as a jumping off, or ironic counterpoint. Haven't picked the photo yet.

The reason for all the rush-rush is because I have to get a bunch of corrections and pages done on my book project before 11 a.m. tomorrow morning, and even looking at several more hours of sustained labor, it's looking bleak.

So, I'm breaking away from it to take refuge here. Here in this place where I can create new words and ideas as lush and indulgent and warm and as deep as an old-fashioned claw-foot tub full of White Rain strawberry-essence bubbles.

There's one of the best hints for quality living I can offer you: use cheap shampoo for your bubble bath. It seems to be kind to your tenders and yet the bubbles stand up to the introduction of the soap and they last until the end of the bath, and then some.

And they're not as noisy as most bubbles. That's important when you gather your hair up into a dual-purpose ponytail/padded head cushion at the back of your head and slither down up to your ears and you have a slight headache. All shampoo is good. Any shampoo will work. Fragilicious and fuzzy, and there's hardly any need to ever clean the tub because the bubbles sort of take care of that, too.

Time to find a photo or this piece will have less substance than the bubbles.

3:39. Well, the photo pickin's are slim to none. I've got to get out in the fresh air one of these days. I had to scrabble through the old pictures in the black and pink flowered shoebox and find something from the past.

This one appealed to me between yawns -- I'm limp and tired and a bed would be just the thing right about now.

4:39. Well, after more sustained work on my pages, it looks as if --yippie kai yea -- I won't be able to finish after all. Too many still-missing elements, not my fault, hidey-ho. Might as well quit now and try to get some sleep. There will be repercussions in the morning. I'm in hot water now.

But first, a bath.

I took the photo when we lived in New Jersey. I was trying to be artistic. My father took photos. He was artistic.

You try to believe that some things come more easily to you. That your hands are naturally wide enough to play piano. That you have a good eye. Or the family birthmark.

Sometimes you try too hard. The hours drain away. A thin slick of hissing bubble lace is all that remains.