With the way my morning began, I should have known it would be an extraordinary day. By the time I swung my feet over the edge of the bed, threw on my running clothes, tied my shoes, and timidly opened the door to test the day's weather, it was about 7:00 in the morning. Looking left and right and left and right, trying to decide which way I'd run today, I came back to the obvious - the ocean was on the right, why would you ever run left?
And so I ran right. Not with all my might, or strength or speed, it was just a nice trotting sort of run down the street, across the road, to the ocean. All of a sudden, it seized me. It [the magnetic desire for the sea] generally does when I run near the ocean, but this time it got the best of me and I found myself loping across the road and down towards the beach. There was no going back now. I jogged up and back on the beach, unlaced my shoes, tucked my ipod in with my socks, shed an appropriate amount of clothing, took a running start and
PLUNGED
into the ocean.
Headfirst, committed, kicking, swimming. Oh, it was grand. The sky with her newly born sun, the sea spread out to the skyline of the city and faraway Geelong. There was, of course, some accompanying awkwardness. This great feat of daring probably looked a little foolish because I ran, I plunged and swam, but then I stood up with the water nearly to my waist... Then I did some more running and thought about old people and water aerobics, and swimming. Once I was out in the deep blue sea, I didn't really know what to do. I'd never been there before. So I floated. I tread water and did spins. I swam and kicked and watched the dogs walking their humans on the shore.
I swam back after a bit and did some squats - what a strange word. Somehow squats are more dignified and elitist if you're doing them with your toes in the ocean. After a few of those, I slid into Warrior II and looked mightily down the beach. When I'd finished and squeezed some of the saltwater out of my dripping ponytail, I decided it was time to come back to reality and figure out how I was getting out of here.
If you remember, I came down to the beach in my running shoes, my fabulous yellow and gray nike lunar flys. I wasn't about to put those sandy, wet feet back in my shoes. So I carried them. I picked my way through the underbrush along the path, I stepped over the orange tape that marked the beginning of the path reconstruction, I tiptoed up the bulldozed path, and ran back through grassy front yards to the house.
That afternoon, I realized what the Warrior II, the slightly post-sunrise swim, and the barefoot trek had prepared me for. It's something called the government runaround. It happens in all countries, is intended by no politician or plebeian, it just happens. I went to the Post Office intent on filing my background check for working with children. I thought I had all the necessary paperwork...things are never that easy. I was sent to the bank to print off a bank statement. Back to the Post, too bad the address is a PO box, it must be a residential address. But I was determined. How could I back down now? I felt it would be doing a disservice to the Founding Fathers to give up. Back to the bank, change the account address, print and sign. Back to the Post, acceptable at last. Filed, stamped, receipt-ed.
In the middle of all of this running around, awkward thing number 23498237478945623948723498 happened. There I was, standing in line at the bank. No one is talking but the tellers. Nondescript pop-ish music is playing, and there are ads about loans and saving on the walls. Standing in front of me is a rather dilapidated soul with an out of hand offspring intent on wreaking mischief. Why the woman was carrying both pairs of their shoes in her hand escapes me, but it gives you a little insight into the eccentric nature of the situation. Abruptly, the woman pulls the earphones out of her ears and turns to me. That's fine, I can handle stranger small talk. Too bad this wasn't small talk. In fact, it was pretty big talk. She starts off with - so say your boyfriend that you've been with for two years breaks up with you and after a week, he's with another woman but I still want to talk things through with him.
WHAT?!
Maybe I should be flattered that out of all the people in town, she felt the girl standing behind her wearing the Hope for Africa t-shirt would be the best option for an impromptu counseling session. So she asked for my advice. Repeatedly. I'll confess, I wasn't prepared to give a dissertation on why Jesus can fulfill all your needs, and a few ambiguous statements trickled out instead. Well, maybe he wasn't worth being with? How quickly can people change? You just cry a lot and spend time with your close friends and move on.
After each of these bewildered attempts at addressing the situation, she'd nod and mmmm. Finally, it was her turn at the teller's desk, so she walked away, shoes in hand, and I went to talk with Jill, who printed off my bank statement [the first attempt]. My life is so weird. Grimace.
Love to you, wherever you are,
Little Miss Sunshine
Headfirst, committed, kicking, swimming. Oh, it was grand. The sky with her newly born sun, the sea spread out to the skyline of the city and faraway Geelong. There was, of course, some accompanying awkwardness. This great feat of daring probably looked a little foolish because I ran, I plunged and swam, but then I stood up with the water nearly to my waist... Then I did some more running and thought about old people and water aerobics, and swimming. Once I was out in the deep blue sea, I didn't really know what to do. I'd never been there before. So I floated. I tread water and did spins. I swam and kicked and watched the dogs walking their humans on the shore.
I swam back after a bit and did some squats - what a strange word. Somehow squats are more dignified and elitist if you're doing them with your toes in the ocean. After a few of those, I slid into Warrior II and looked mightily down the beach. When I'd finished and squeezed some of the saltwater out of my dripping ponytail, I decided it was time to come back to reality and figure out how I was getting out of here.
If you remember, I came down to the beach in my running shoes, my fabulous yellow and gray nike lunar flys. I wasn't about to put those sandy, wet feet back in my shoes. So I carried them. I picked my way through the underbrush along the path, I stepped over the orange tape that marked the beginning of the path reconstruction, I tiptoed up the bulldozed path, and ran back through grassy front yards to the house.
That afternoon, I realized what the Warrior II, the slightly post-sunrise swim, and the barefoot trek had prepared me for. It's something called the government runaround. It happens in all countries, is intended by no politician or plebeian, it just happens. I went to the Post Office intent on filing my background check for working with children. I thought I had all the necessary paperwork...things are never that easy. I was sent to the bank to print off a bank statement. Back to the Post, too bad the address is a PO box, it must be a residential address. But I was determined. How could I back down now? I felt it would be doing a disservice to the Founding Fathers to give up. Back to the bank, change the account address, print and sign. Back to the Post, acceptable at last. Filed, stamped, receipt-ed.
In the middle of all of this running around, awkward thing number 23498237478945623948723498 happened. There I was, standing in line at the bank. No one is talking but the tellers. Nondescript pop-ish music is playing, and there are ads about loans and saving on the walls. Standing in front of me is a rather dilapidated soul with an out of hand offspring intent on wreaking mischief. Why the woman was carrying both pairs of their shoes in her hand escapes me, but it gives you a little insight into the eccentric nature of the situation. Abruptly, the woman pulls the earphones out of her ears and turns to me. That's fine, I can handle stranger small talk. Too bad this wasn't small talk. In fact, it was pretty big talk. She starts off with - so say your boyfriend that you've been with for two years breaks up with you and after a week, he's with another woman but I still want to talk things through with him.
WHAT?!
Maybe I should be flattered that out of all the people in town, she felt the girl standing behind her wearing the Hope for Africa t-shirt would be the best option for an impromptu counseling session. So she asked for my advice. Repeatedly. I'll confess, I wasn't prepared to give a dissertation on why Jesus can fulfill all your needs, and a few ambiguous statements trickled out instead. Well, maybe he wasn't worth being with? How quickly can people change? You just cry a lot and spend time with your close friends and move on.
After each of these bewildered attempts at addressing the situation, she'd nod and mmmm. Finally, it was her turn at the teller's desk, so she walked away, shoes in hand, and I went to talk with Jill, who printed off my bank statement [the first attempt]. My life is so weird. Grimace.
Love to you, wherever you are,
Little Miss Sunshine
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