Wednesday, May 19, 2010

Sea Foam Hysteria

Everyday the sea is different. Indeed it seems to have its own personality full of torment and joy much like myself. And I've never grown up next to an ocean before-I don't know why they do the things they do. Why is it that some afternoons the shore seems to stretch all the way out to the horizon when other days the waves crash all the way up to the beach restaurants? And what makes it the color of a navy cadet's uniform one day but the next it's as blue as the sky? Why do piles of pink jellyfish scatter the shore in December but not May? I find myself both confused and in awe of this massive being three minutes beyond my front door. My fascination, and later my regretful misunderstanding, reached a new height today as I could barely wait to come home from town, race to my favorite secluded spot and dive in. I like being in the water. It's quiet-there's no awful club music or 80s adult contemporary blasting in my ear. It's solitary-there's no one to make me a sales pitch on "authentic" whale bone bracelets and no one to ask me for my number. And if I get really far out, I can see almost the entire eastern side of the peninsula being illuminated by the late afternoon sun. But you see, this is where my intrigue and my ignorance clash in an awful array of private and hysterical mayhem. Do you know how quickly the tide comes in? Were you aware of the swiftness and force of which it can wash items away? Yeah, I didn't either, until, 100 yards from the coast, I watched in horror as my belongings said hello to a salty retirement in the Mozambique Channel. "NOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!! PLEASE, PLEASE, PLEASE let my keys still be there!!!" I pleaded to the energies that govern that maybe in some glorious stroke of luck that my keys, my only set, would somehow be there when I eventually made it back to land. Promptly I began cursing my sedentary lifestyle and my non-Phelpsian ability to get myself to the scene of the crime to at least hunt my keys out of the pelting waves like a lunatic. Instead, I was forced into a real life scenario in which one cannot run in a dream, no matter how hard one may try. No keys. No second flip flop. And no capulana to cover up my swimming attire for the deflated walk home. Upon my return, much like usual in times of need, I headed straight for Fatima. I was quickly given capulana coverage and told that the landlord would return...sometime. I thought of how we would go about breaking down my door and how I would get the funds together to buy new locks. I thought of how out of shape I am. I thought of how I'd really like to change out of my wet swimsuit. I thought of how I might spend the night on the floor. And then I thought of dinner, and how I could not think of a better time to cook that care package specialty-mac and cheese-than today. (Iddi, the landlord did eventually show up with an extra set of keys [surprise!] and I am now resting comfortably on my bed, thinking twice about swimming tomorrow).

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