I celebrated the 4th day of July by relaxing on the beach with some of my ladyfriends. I’m not a beach bunny by any means but the idea of living in a place where a drive to the sea shore takes more than an hour (including traffic!) makes me feel a little dubious as to the true quality of life in said area. Why would I want to let such a gross season pass without the occasional fun of being pummeled in submission by a relentless march of waves, washed up on the shore, and then dried out into a crispy, sandy humanoid form with un-comb-able hair? I look pretty cute in my new swimsuit from Esther Williams (a company with a good, US-made product that I support fully!) but let’s not forget about the secret, smugglin’ nature of the one piece: you will come home with a tidepool’s worth of treats stuck to your stomach. Now there’s a day well spent.
So, yesterday, after the requisite pummeling, washing, drying, and not combing, I thought to myself, “Whoa. What is this weird feeling come over my body?” Oh. I think it’s… relaxation.
I’m so rarely relaxed. Even when I tell myself that I am, I am still floating 3 inches above my chair- buffered by a constant tension of ideas, obligations, shoulda-coulda-wouldas and lots of guilt.
So, when I identified the strange state that had overtaken my body, I wanted to be in it forever- all warm and floppy muscled. But how? How do I tell myself, “CUT THE CRAP, NOVAK!” ? How do I compromise my ambition with a season that takes away all of my heartiness and ability- even with air conditioning!?
It’s vacating time, chumps!!!
With this, I declare a priority placed on relaxation. Lying, loafing, reading, swimming, eating, drinking, and casual shit-talking are now being moved into the forefront of my intentions. Well, after I edit some Etsy photos, throw up some listings, line up some ads, and post some more photos of olde timey bathers.
But, after all that: VACATION!
Which will, hopefully, make me feel like this: