I gather a towel and my purple flannel pajama pants, the ones that are slightly ripped and worn from my wearing of them at unacceptable times of the day, and head to the land of the shower. I strip off my clothes, one by one, falling to the floor, standing alone and not at all uncomfortable in the presence of my honest reflection in this small room.  The water runs. I wait with my hand bravely in the shower taking the brunt of the cold while my body stands outside, shivering, waiting for the warmth to set in. I enter. The hot water douses my body, trickling happily down into the drain, not knowing really where it will be going. I lather with shampoo and conditioner. You’re supposed to use them separately, but I guess you could say I’m a rebel. The chemicals smell like nectarines, lingering even after I have washed it away. I take the pink razor, the one that has the edges sharp enough to end a life, and gently glide it over my body, feeling myself gleam in the fresh softness of a close shave. It’s getting hot in here now, almost too hot.  The steam is clogging my senses, making my head dizzy. My body somehow abandoned its usual 98.6 degrees to comprehend the heat I was putting it through. I get out. The steam is overwhelming, I switch on the flip of the fan, and the soft hum takes over the silence filling the small room. I towel until I am dry, except for my soaking hair, which will have to bathe in the normal air for about an hour to dry. I put on my purple flannel pajamas again, realizing that I soon will have to reenter the other rooms of my house, and rejoin the life that I had momentarily abandoned.