walls

i am so tired that my car looks like home

I get to this point when there are eight days left in the term and my mind quits. I string words together and listen as the coherent argument transforms into scripted jargon. This is an ongoing problem in my life. However, it is tiresome.

On a much brighter note, I swam so fast today that fish were jealous. I swim a fair bit— the rhythm of my three beat stroke the closest I come to meditation. The water parts for me, and if I don't fight it, I can jam. There have been days when the pool is an endless hell; my mind is satan who laughs as water splashes up my nose. Oh, I know satan. That shit talker who tells me to get out of the pool 18 laps into a mile; that bastard talks so much, I almost listen. But then where would I be? huddled in the shower sniveling like a quiter. I cowgirl up instead, and finish another 18 laps.

Other days it is effortless. Which is why I keep swimming. The days when my mind has accepted that for thirty minutes I am going to work like mad, and then have a sandwich. There are days when I try to whistle underwater. It doesn't work, but I still try. It is bliss, the water is cool and I pretend I am a mermaid (I whistle a little tune). Or, I pretend that I am a boat or an octopus. I doubt that I will see anyone about my overactive imagination. Instead, I will get a pet turtle.