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Waterlogged

Too often I know the titles for these posts before I can think up some half-decent content to follow them.

When my jumbo water-bottle relieved itself inside my bag this morning, I knew I had a winner. The beauty of being a writer is that something can always be salvaged from the wreck, regardless of how messy it gets. I’m talking about the story and in this case, I also lucked out by managing to save a few watery pens from drowning. Islands of loose change I could not care less about saving have now sunk to the bottom of my one purse, reminding me that if my wallet were a boat, well, it’s time for a new boat. 

Now for the hard part… something actually worth reading.

I don’t feel like I’m drowning, that’s not what this is about. But sometimes, when you find yourself treading water for the eleventh hour on-end, a ledge to grab on to becomes more appealing than proving the point.

My arms are tired. And I never really was a swimmer. I lack buoyancy and it’s no secret I failed level four of swimming twice.

Being somewhere without anything to ground you is a lot like being in the middle of an ocean. There’s no sense of direction, and the only difference between up and down is two different shades of blue. You take on water; you give some back. You absorb the swills and you counter the swalls. You make up words just to feel in control: You can’t master your fate if you’ve lost your soul.

You just are, exactly where you are. 

All of this is to say that I’m tired of flailing my arms, wavering around like one of those air-fed stickmen that billow in used car lots. If the air-fed stickman were in an ocean. And somehow still functioning.

You can either let the waves of emotions wash over you while you stay put and tread, or you can go along for the ride and see where you end up. I mean, you’ll either hit land or you’ll just find yourself in the middle of another ocean, which can’t be that bad.

Across the Atlantic, people will wake up to read a post that doesn’t make much sense. But they can’t say I didn’t warn them: I delivered a great title, and have never promised to do more.

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