Jump In

It's about time that I find a healthy output for my thoughts, and I believe this new blog may be it. I miss putting semi-private things in writing, online, for the general public to read. I miss that. So this is a new beginning of me doing just that. I may write some things that intrigue you. I may write things appall you. I may write things that shamefully arouse you. We shall see.

First things first: when did they start making days go by faster? Last year, I felt very in-control and well organized, and it seemed like I had ample time to attend to all my responsibilities. That feeling seems to be slipping away from me this year. It is true that I've taken on a larger work load this semester, but it's not that much different than the last two semesters. So what is it? Well, maybe it's me. I'd like to think that I've been growing and maturing, but maybe I've fallen behind. Maybe I'm not as sharp as I used to be. Here's something that happened to me other day, and though it may not seem to be relevant initially, I promise you, it is: I went to a pool. I went to a public pool to swim laps. I haven't swam in anything for a year. Not for any particular reason, it just never came up. I move my towel, shoes and shirt off to the side, and climb in, goggles in hand. As I submerge my entire body in the water, I feel refreshed and alive. I adjust the straps of my goggles, place them on and check the suction. I kick off the wall of the pool, propelling myself into what I intend to be The Crawl. Face in the water. Kick, kick. Right arm, left arm. As I cock my head slightly above water, I inhale. No: I attempt to inhale. What occurs instead is merely a sharp intake of breath--akin to quick gasp. My abdomen is tight, my chest is constricted, and I feel the breath only enter my mouth, hardly making it to my lungs. I have forgotten how to breathe. Oh fuck. For a second I panic, desperately trying to move forward. But another gasp--and a guttural wheeze. I float there, stunned; resign to doggy-paddling. It's seems to be the only way I can still breathe while swimming. Slowly, I discover that I can do the Breast-stroke, if I focus very intently on my breathing. And that's all I do for the remaining 20 minutes that I'm there. As I walk away from the pool, the smell of chlorine making me recall past memories, I consider what just happened. I forgot how to breathe; I had to teach myself how to breathe again. Remember how I promised this would be relevant? Well, maybe it is. Then again, maybe it isn't. I hope that it somehow resonates for you in your own, individual way. Which may just be a story about a dumbass who forgot how to swim.