Claw-Foot Tub Memoirs.

I spent hours in the antique claw-foot tub with a glass of cheap Merlot and Billy Holiday – that was me at 22. Gloriously depressed and enjoying the evidence of where I was. Somehow I felt to do it. To be celibate – would I be a monk or where would I be? I felt it. The spirit. The calling. The something. I could never quite put my finger on or even quantify it. It just is. 

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