I only had to teach one class over da' hill today. So I got to leave late and come home early. The rest of the week will be crazy, I'll be leaving early and coming home late.
I swam with Willow's Mom (woo hoo!) early this morning. It reminded me of swimming in Half Moon Bay, back in the early 80's. Foggy cool mornings in the half-light trips up the tree-studded hill to the Big Pool. But this time I wasn't a passenger in my mom's cranky old midnight blue mercedes. I was a passenger in WM's dark blue honda-something. Tiptoeing through the moist air from the locker room to the pool, trying not to breath in case one's tiny bit of heat is sucked away into the bottomless air. Rolling into the warm, welcoming water. I didn't remember all the swim-terms, but my body remembered the strokes. Side... back... breast... freestyle... they all came back as if I just learned them last week. Found out I'd be the only one doing side-stroke (a favorite among old ladies) because its not "competition." My mild embarrassment was replaced by an anti-social side-stroking pride. Dammit, I will side-stroke. And I did. There is something liberating about going to the pool, being fat, 31 and having nothing to prove.
(I may not be fat, but I do have expansive white thighs)
As I was driving home, I started to think about a job The T found on the internet for me. The deadline was last week, but there might be a chance its still open. Its an administrative job in the art ed field, ironically, with a Flip Flop non-profit that didn't hire me a few years ago when I applied to be a teacher. The funny thing is that I have about 80% of the requirements under my belt (but some serious lackage in the admin-department). I was going over the details in my mind, like when you have a crush on a boy and you try adding his last name to your first name just to see how it sounds. I was trying to see myself in that job. They have an airless office in Aptos, and I didn't particularly like the ladies I encountered. I was trying to put myself in that office, in front of their computer, parking my car in their parking lot. I couldn't do it. The little mental paperdoll camille just kept sliding out of the picture. Its a real job, my brain kept screaming! With benefits! Paid Vacations! And a 50 week work year! I remembered how homicidal I felt after a few days of meetings and scheduling last year. I imagined doing that every day. Scheduling and meeting and budgeting and writing grants every day. I could see the my little imaginary effigy start to quiver, then convulse, then she burst into flames. This would not work. This mental experiment was a failure. I wouldn't want to release a homicidal camille on the innocents of Aptos, would I? Its my civic duty to let this one go.
Then I said, "Self, you can't be pleased! What do you want?"
and Self said, "To sit in a hammock, in the sun, eating fresh salad rolls, drinking iced tea while reading poetry." My brain started flashing images of the Grasshopper and the Ant, and how thin and hungry the Grasshopper was in the winter after spending the summer sitting in hammocks eating salad rolls. That is a pagan story invented to make life miserable, I shot back. What about the sparrows, huh? And the lillies-of-the-fields? And Our Heavenly Father?
And magically, I found myself at the grocery store, buying carrots, radishes and sprouts. Before I knew it, I was sitting in my saffron cambodian hammock, with a plate of salad rolls and a book of Edna St Vincent Millay on my lap having a Perfect Moment in the mild evening sun. My brain kept screaming about taking opportunity, and writing resumes and getting a real job that would make Perfect Moments like this a daily, stress free occurrence. I shoved a salad roll in Brain's food chute, and it finally shut up and I curled up to enjoy Edna.