It started with this morning, when right out of bed (and after sleeping scandalously late) I stepped in something the cat had left for me last night that belonged in her box. There's an unpleasant sensation to start the day, and an area rug ruined. Later I went surfing, just at high tide, and the rising tide had brought with it beds and beds of kelp and seaweed and other stringy, slimy pelagic vegetation. I know it's no big deal, but there's something profoundly off-putting about having something cold and slimy wind itself between your toes.
On a good day, I take the Pacific for a ride, and it's brilliant. On a more typical day, the Pacific and I duke it out, taking turns "being on top". Today, the Pacific took me for a ride. I can't say I caught a wave, but I can say some really big ones caught me. Chuck-the-neighbor looked over my shoulder and said, "Holy shit, look out!" He wasn't kidding. I managed to stay on top of the board for... a few microseconds. Then I got pushed under, rolled end over end (covering my head like an old timey "duck and cover" Atomic alert drill) and came up for blessed breath all the way to shore. I fought my way back out only to get knocked over the head with another gigantic stomper, pushed down, and rolled about like so many of your socks that have gone missing.
Finally I got my feet under me in time, but another love-tap from the Pacific was rolling down on top of me, and I pushed off hard to keep my head and board over it - only to feel my plantar fasciia give a little. I yanked my foot up and got taken for another ride. I limped out of the water, fearing another ruptured ligament (though this one would be a far more honorable wound than the last) and made my weary, ass-whupped way home. By the time I got home it was just sore, so I guess it just stretched a little. Who knows, it's been feeling a little tight - maybe it would be good for it in the long run.
Still, I've showered, and I've got some game-hen that I'm doing on a cedar-plan bbq tonight. There are people hula-hooping and cackling like mad people right outside my balcony (and talking to the cat, who is feeling better.) That shower felt better than some mediocre sex I've had, as it often does after an arduous session. I'm clean, and smell vaguely of coconut. Life is good. A bottle of chilled white would be perfect, but alas, I'm all out.
I hope I don't step in anything else. (Unpleasant, that is. Discarded undergarments might not be too bad, provided they weren't my own.)