I turned on the ballgame, something I would not normally do during the afternoon, but I had a friend who was at Wrigley Field and it felt like a way to share the experience. I also had laundry to do. Watching a game on TV always seems more easily justified when you can do chores while listening to the color commentator and argue with the umps’ calls thanks to instant replay. The Cubs have been so disappointing this year, taking a break for a pitching change in the seventh inning was not unexpected.

“To the showers,” I laughed, invoking the cry of the pitching coach who was sent to the mound to make the change. Then I realized the command was for me too. I returned from the health club earlier in the afternoon and started with housework right away. I needed to get cleaned up to start on dinner. It seemed funny to me that the call to come clean marked totally different moments for me and the Cubs latest Triple A pitching prospect. His day was ending, and it felt like mine was just beginning.

Supposedly, the human body is 70% water. As I turned the handle to get just the right temperature, I marveled at the shower head high above the stall. Clear, vigorous streams shot down at a 45 degree angle. So forcefully distributed, the spray seemed to jump back up after hitting anything in its path. Some strange power must be at work, I pondered. Maybe it’s a situation of like seeking like because my body seems to be so happy, so enlivened, by being in water, especially while my muscles are being massaged by such strong and benevolently long fingers. Water in my shower does not trickle or cascade. The water that came down bolted across my upright body, waking me up and making me feel oh so good. Yes, this was the best shower pressure I ever had, better than anywhere else I had ever lived.

Steam filled the bathroom, leaving a foggy coating on the mirror above the sink. I relished the deepness of my breath and turned my attention to the sandy colored Travertine tile on walls. The random patterns seemed animated themselves, swirling like microscope observed paramecium at a party. I loved the fact that no two sections looked the same.

I must have lingered in the shower at least twenty minutes, long after I rinsed the shampoo out of my hair and could have declared myself clean. Okay, so taking a shower is only partially about hygiene. It’s a grand, practically free, experience to celebrate feeling in your body. It’s a chance to clear your mind of preoccupying nonsense and just concentrate on the pleasure of uninterrupted pellets of water on your shoulders and skin.

Taking a good, long, hot shower is such a simple indulgence I can’t afford not to give myself. It’s one way I have found to feel like I am starting fresh, that I am starting my day, even if I’m stepping into the tub or stall after 3:00 in the afternoon.

Being able to feel new again — and again, and again, is no small thing.