What a beach...

My inner beast paces within me. Back and forth, back and forth. Like a caged animal, it looks for a way out. Any way out.

It usually rears its ugly head in the form of crankiness and fidgeting. I am unable to settle down. Those who know me take a step back and watch the sparks fly as I am coiled tighter and tighter.

He knows what I want – what I need. What will let loose the wild animal within.

I need sun, sand, water. Actually, sand and water are really the needed items. Sun just happens to be the icing on the cake for me.

He promises me the world and then delivers it with a bow wrapped around it.

He parks the car and unloads the trunk. I can hardly wait until my feet hit the dunes.

It seems to take forever to unload the car and haul our crap. I could almost pull him along with the other things he’s carrying.

I can feel the beast starting to jump up against the cage the closer I get to the ocean. It smells freedom.

Up and over the dunes I go and I stop. The roar of the surf drowns out the roar of the caged critter and I find myself once again passive.

A moment before I needed to charge down to the water and now all I need to do is stand there with my toes digging in the sand and inhale the fresh air.

Instead I head directly towards the water. I know that just a couple of hours will undo the coiled wreck that I've become.

The incoming surf washes over my feet. As I watch the water recede, my cares go with it.

In with the good. Out with the bad.

In with the good. Out with the bad.

While some people find the ocean and beach not relaxing, I am constantly soothed by the sounds and smells that nature blankets me in.

At this moment I am reminded that life is good and I am thankful for it.

Off the grid...

Every year around this time I must withdraw from the world and regroup.

Not just take a break for a day or so, but seriously walk away from it all for many, many days in a row.

I shut off the phone, unplug the computer, ignore the ever growing pile of mail and disconnect from society.

My social skills are reduced to bare minimum requirements. Just above grunting and pointing. Maybe more like pointing and laughing.

Serious alcohol intake, long slumbers, old movies and trashy novels fill my days.

My cares drop off one by one until I am a big smiling pile of relaxed goodness.

Then I’m ready to take on the world again.

Lights are on but nobody's home...

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Sometimes it's not all about you...

Girl talk about girl things makes us laugh. We sit in our chairs and complain about ourselves. A big, pink bubble surrounds us as we relate to one another. Nods here and there in agreement to the horrors of being women - yet we laugh about it.

We are strange creatures.

He walks up and bursts our bubble. Testosterone just wouldn't understand our world. Not that he would even try. He's bored and wants us to talk about him. I don't do it.

I hate being manipulated like that.

Instead, I walk away. Let her fawn all over him. That's her job, not mine.

Their conversation is all about him and his likes as they try to suck me into the void. I don't care about what he likes or not because I don't really like him. He's a pain in the ass.

He always seems to know when we're having fun and he is bound and determined to stop it. He wedges himself in between us every single time. It's a pattern she doesn't see.

Once again, I watch in wonder as their conversation unfolds.

Slowly, I shake my head as I turn my back on them and head into the house. Not wanting to play a part in the manipulation game.

Man, that kid is going to have a wake-up call when he gets older and realizes that the world does not revolve around him and then tell him how fabulous he is.

Sloth...

Is it bad to say that sloth is one of my favorite sins?

As I float on my raft and soak up the beauty of the day I am reminded that not everybody in this world is as lucky as me.

So, in my slothful mode, I become appreciative. I mentally stop to smell the roses.

That's not a sin, is it?

Scar Face...

The summer heat has sucked the zip out of my walk and has made me lethargic. (and a wee bit cranky)

I find myself contemplating a whole lot of nothing. It's just easier to do nothing and not break a sweat. Because once you're sweaty, you never seem to cool down or dry off quite as well as you want or need.

Sitting down, I mentally check out. That head space where it's so deep you forget you're zoning out.

Absentmindedly, I rub the scar on my chin. As if touching it calms me down and helps me let go. It's an old habit for an old scar.

It's one of those times when I doubted what my mother told me and then what she predicted actually happened. I was always one of those kids who needed to touch fire before I believed that it was hot.

Don't run with your shoes untied, you'll trip and fall flat on your face.
Don't run across the street, you'll fall and get hit by a car.

I ran across the street with my shoes untied and almost got my melon crushed by a car. I did fall flat on my face and spit my chin open. Needless to say, that was the last time I EVER did that.

And now I have a scar that reminds me of one of the many life lessons I learned the hard way.

Sometimes I wish all my scars were that visible - that they were that tangible. Not to show how many times I've gotten hurt, but to remind myself of where I've been and where I'm going.

And the lessons I have learned.

Hell is cooler than here...

Not to be a nudge, but I really can't wait for Autumn.

Sitting still provokes profuse sweating. Maybe if I totally stopped moving it would be better. But I'm pretty sure I'm going to have to breathe, so that means I'll be moving even just a little bit.

The poor cats lay on the cool tile like floppy toys. The one cat has even resorted to jumping into the sink when the water is on so he can get soaked.

The boy maintains his coolness by only exercizing his thumbs. I hear he's nearly a Jedi master or something close to it in one game. It's just too damn hot to do anything productive.

You know it's hot when ice cream actually looks good for dinner.

I think I'm going to eat a fudgcicle and pretend it's a salad tonight.