When I moved in with Gary, not only did I score access to more speakers than I can even begin to know what to do with, but I also shimmied on up in life to an apartment building with a swimming pool. I am livin' the dream, people.
In the hot, hot, awfully hot days of summer, that pool is a lifesaver. Last year we spent hours there.
I've never been much of a swimmer. I think it had a lot to do with being very nearsighted from a young age. I'm not uncomfortable in the water, nor am I afraid of it. But I've never gone swimming alone, nor have I ever been one to swim for the sake of fitness. I don't really even swim so much as bob around, float and splash a bit.
Today I changed that. I used to joke with my coworkers about how I'd like to go swimming after work, before G gets home, but a lone woman in a crazy concrete apartment building swimming pool? That is the making of an awful horror movie that ends up with my bloodied corpse floating face down, and I am not so keen on going out that way.
But hey. Circumstances have changed, and really- what have I got to be afraid of? So this morning, I put on my awful Walmart one piece swimsuit (not the one I wear when I'm at the pool with my friends or boyfriend, clearly). I grabbed a towel. I went downstairs to face my impending death.
Obviously I didn't die. I did crank my head pretty good on the pool wall, but I've got a thick skull. And as it turns out, being a poor swimmer is working to my advantage. I was too focused on remembering to breathe and not dying that I didn't have any time to wallow or worry. I liked that.
So tomorrow, I'll be back downstairs. In the pool. Swimming lengths. Tryin' not to die.
I'll get through this. One stroke at a time.
1 day ago