Wednesday, June 29, 2011

Even better.

Even better than falling asleep when you're tired is waking up when you've slept enough.

Saturday, June 18, 2011

I pooped in my wetsuit.

This one time I was surfing with my brother and a friend of ours and one of them said to the other, "hey dude, have you ever pooped in your wetsuit?" and the other replied, "yeah dude. It's cool 'cause you don't even have to get out of the water."

Everybody pees in their wetsuit. I mean, that's probably my favorite part of surfing -it's so warm and comforting. Listening in on this I thought, yeah, that makes sense. Of course. Why didn't I think of that before?

Another day, another session, we three were surfing again and I had to poop. "Oh, I can go in my wetsuit," I thought.

So I did.

The poop didn't disperse like I thought it would. It stayed at the back in a lump. I tried to squish it around, to get it to dissolve and dissipate. It spread around quite a bit, up my back, down my legs. I was wearing a spring suit, which ends above the knees, so I could grab the edges and flap brown clouds out the leg openings. But the poop would not just rinse away. It was still mostly on the inside of my wetsuit.

I paddled to shore and tried diving  through the breakers, hoping that would help. Then I tried taking my wetsuit off and holding it while the waves continued to pummel my poopy body. My one-piece swimsuit was not getting clean enough either. I took it off too. Poopy wetsuit in one hand, poopy bathing suit in the other, poopy body floundering around near shore, I washed and scrubbed between furtive looks around. I hoped nobody up on the cliff could see me.

Finally I put my bathing suit back on, put my wetsuit back on, and paddled back to my brother and friend.

"Hey, I tried pooping in my wetsuit and it didn't work,"  I told them. I still didn't get it.

"You pooped in your wetsuit?!!"
"Arrrgghh! That's gross!!"
They both yelled and laughed and paddled away from me. I was 16 or 17.

My bathing suit was never the same. Eventually I threw it away because the fabric around the butt stayed stiff and never softened up again.

Sunday, June 12, 2011

Button to push.

I wish there were a button to push to fix all the heartbreaks and cracks and bruises in the world. Or if not a button, then a lever to pull. Or a seed to plant. Soil to till. A string to pluck. A potted plant to water. Oh, if only there were a puppy to pet that would cure all our hearts. A peach to eat. Kale to sautee. Rocks to climb. A bike to ride. A creek to swim. A sky to watch. A walk to take. An egg to fry. Tea to steep. Song to wail. Carpet to vacuum. Tub to soak. Beard to shave. Poem to write. If only there were one minute to live through that would heal everything. As it is we just have to do all these things over and over and over until we are whole again. I guess. I hope.