I don't fit

I got into this gross tub five years ago. I’ve spent time outside of it since then, but not much. During the winter months in the cold place I live, I try to cram myself in here more nights than not. I can submerge my legs or my torso but never both, so I choose based on which body part hurts the most. I think everyone does this? I tell myself most tubs are too small, but I know that’s not true. I was in a larger one once, with bubbles and everything. I felt like a fabulous prince in that place. Back in my pathetic bird bath where I don’t think about big, beautiful tubs, my little chopstick legs were the lucky soakers for years because I rode my bike too much, and they always ached. These days my left arm feels like it’s just about ready to detach from my body and float into space, so my legs are high & dry, and I look like a turtle sticking its head out to see what’s going on up there. I don’t blow bubbles in the water that’s full of human stink, but now that I’m typing about it, I might like to try. Sinking deeper into the tub has been the sort of perspective shift that could be fodder for an inspirational LinkedIn post if I were that kind of person, which I very nearly am. I lie there with salty water up to my ears wondering why the faucet is off-center, but I don’t ask my landlord because questions like that could hurt his feelings, and then I’d have to give him more money to keep living here. I wonder other things too like where in the world I should live, what makes a life meaningful, and why love hurts and no amount of Epsom salt can help with that. It’s not stressful, though, because when you’re in the tub you can huff essential oils or do a little splish splash with your hands to make everything better. The other night, I was quite literally sweating my ass off in an inferno bath when I felt compelled to climb out without detaching my detachable arm and returned with a camera that’s special and expensive because old Germans made it. I did a good job of not dropping it in the water and ruining my life, but the part you look through got foggy, so I blindly pressed the button and got on with my bath. Those are my legs, and that’s the tiny tub I’ve been talking about.