Yep, that’s kid #2, demonstrating an insouciantly elegant wipeout. No big splashes or wild arm waving, merely slipping beneath the water at a 90 degree angle to the surface of the earth and precisely 180 degrees opposite of where he really should be. Spent the past week at the shore, watching kids 1-3 wipe out on surfboards and skateboards while I wiped out doing high-risk things like walking and standing. When not falling down, I spent a lot of time in the water, wondering what it is about the ocean that seems so restorative and rejuvenating. Does bobbing about in the salty waves bring us back to a time of non-sentient innocence, cocooned from all the world’s sharp edges in an amniotic sac? Is the composition of the water so similar to our own salinity that we become one with the water? I don’t know about all that, but I do know that it’s working for me.
I have officially (kind of – still owe a hard copy of my final paper) finished school and am wondering what I will do with my nights off. Could spend more time cleaning, which would benefit all — BUT ME — so it looks like that’s the way to go. Could start my next paper, which would be good for nothing, except to satisfy my perverse craving to do arcane research that no one cares about. Next paper is on why I think that Louis XVI was autistic. More on that later. For the moment, I have gotten myself whipped up into my usual pre-holiday frenzy which consists of revisiting every slight ever inflicted upon me during my painful childhood. That takes a really long time, but since I’ve done it so many times before, it doesn’t take a lot of effort. Then I re-hash the story of how when my German relatives sang “O Tannenbaum,” I thought we were singing “O Timebomb,” which, when you’re a German-American, makes a lot more sense than you might think.