Listening: Love Like Laughter, Central Reservation, Beth Orton

Another Sunday down. 28 more to go.

Uber hot today. Went to the beach with Nickolas, with my 45 SPF and no bathing suit. The Atlantic is too cold this time of year for full blown swimming. Actually, the Atlantic is too cold for swimming almost all the time. We went to a lesser known beach, no boardwalks or arcades to gum up the works. There are so gorgeous houses (read: mansions) in North Hampton. They’re all really old and worth a lot of money, more money than I think I’ll ever want to see. And I know that’s just the tip of the iceberg. There are some houses up in Port Elizabeth, near Portland, that make these look like subsidized housing. The sun was so hot that there was steam rising up off of the wet sand. The dry sand was unbearable and couldn’t wait to dip my feet in the ocean. It actually wasn’t that bad–60-63 degrees. We walked down the beach and let the water suck at our toes. Nick skipped rocks. I waded too deep and got a nice big kiss on the bum before deciding to say “f it!” and went in up to my waist. Who cares if I got my jean skirt soaked? It was fun.
Later, we sat out on the rocks that line the extremely expensive beach bungalows and watches the tide come in. I was watching the rocks that were scattered a long the shoreline. The rocks were left from the last tide and the waves would push them forward and pull them back. Some would stay but other would disappear beneath the rush of sand and foam.
I sat there thinking, how like life. How like MY life. We are all stones. At some point or another, we were thrown into this great ocean of our daily lives. Occasionally we are thrown onto the shores of something new. Some of us manage to stay. Some of us return to the ocean. Over and over and over again it happens.
Did I mention I can’t wait to move?

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