^ Me being an aquatic beast who stalks in the deep and flops around in the sand. A sunburned zombie who wastes all of her time being getting salty and is a carcass of a conversation when she actually has to wear her land legs.
I can't used the word "rape," because all of that was consensual.
Three weeks later: my eyes are permanently bloodshot and refuse to wear my contact lenses. My scalp is peeling. My feet are covered in sand flea bites. My skin is dried and starting to wrinkle. I have massive neoprene induced growths in my skin that yield to no medication. My arms look like that of a built pre-teen boy. I haven't seen anyone outside of the ocean. I'm broke.
Summers are usually an array of nights out, stranger's couches (sometimes their beds), hangovers, dazed at work, new acquaintances you'll lose in the fall, and all the rest of it.
But as every summer, this one is different. I've kept my head down and diligently paddled out towards the horizon time and time again, for hours and days on end. New boards, new waves.
Ya know when you say a word too much, and it doesn't make sense any more? I swear you can do something enough and have the same effect. My mind is a scramble of trim and sections and cross-steps and head dips and set waves and duck dives and its all a blur that my mind cannot comprehend.
The other day a man paddled up to me to compliment me on my last waves and I couldn't remember it. In the zone or zoned out.
I come home exhausted and fall asleep by ten so I can wake up early, rinse and repeat.
Surfing is a hell of a drug my friends, and I haven't lifted my head up from that glassy surface in quite sometime. I think I need to spend time with my family or something.
I would update the internet on long distance monogamy, but I have no idea who I am.
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