Orca

I'm not sure when this became a solo (like S-O-LO, you know? Jason does. . .although, my own situation is no where near as upbeat) production, but I feel like it's because this blog is a sort of outlet in times of complete misery, and, fortunately, Vi is not so miserable as I'm used to seeing her (not that I actually get to see her) as of recent. . .or, at least, not so miserable enough as to need it. If that's the case, I'll gladly put on my shades to cover up my eyes, buy one of those spiky jackets, and ride solo from now on or as often as I need to. Something good for you is good for both of us, capisce, donna?

Anyway, as per usual and as can be expected after my pointing out when this blog seems to be most needed, I have minimal to no positive things to talk about, so, in order to "mix it up", I'm going to go at explaining it in a slightly different but still pathetic way. . .hope your selves have been braced. . .

Okay, well. . .since arriving here, I've been thinking a lot about my life when I was younger, and, recently (as in last night), I stumbled across a memory of my seven- or eight-year-old self taking swimming lessons at the high school.

I think I liked learning how to swim. . .maybe. . .but I specifically remember one activity that I absolutely loathed: water polo. (Or, at least, the modified version we'd play in the deep end every so often.) I'm not sure if I can really say that it was the game itself I hated so much as I'm not sure I ever really understood how to play it. No, my issue with it was that it required that I be able to see and react to what was going on around me in ways I didn't need to during normal lessons.

The thing is that, at this time, I had already acquired my glasses, but it would be years until my first pair of contacts. So, unlike in lessons where I could manage without my lenses by listening and by peering at my instructors and lesson mates, while playing water polo, I was completely lost.

I couldn't see the kick boards we were (apparently) supposed to hit with a ball (that I also couldn't see). I couldn't see my teammates or anyone else in the pool, for that matter. And, to top it off, I could barely stay afloat as treading water become increasingly difficult as one (or maybe just me) enters a minor state of panic due to lack of comprehension.

I was blind, and I was drowning. . .

Being here in Minnesota, even now that I have the promise that I'll be leaving for good in less than fifty days (can I get a "halleluurrrjj-yah"!? and not the almost overdone Jeff Buckley version. . .though, that one is pretty enough to earn a link, I think), has felt and continues to feel like drowning. And the only way I can see that feeling going away is if I leave. . .if I get out of the pool. . .so I guess it's good that I'm doing that soon. . .

But, while here, I've. . .discovered(?) a lot of things too. Rattling things. About myself. . .my life. . .the people I know. . .the people I don't know. . .and I guess that's what's "supposed" to happen during this "phase" of a life like mine, but it. . .all I've found. . .exposed. . .but not necessarily "figured out". . .it feels like a hell of a lot. Almost like I dipped into other phases and found out extra things. . .things I didn't need to know. Things I wasn't ready to know. And all of that. . .makes me feel like I'm blind again. But, different from swimming lessons, getting out of the pool--or, in this case, leaving Minnesota--doesn't seem like it'll also be enough to clear things up for me again. I can't see this feeling going away. . .I can't see at all, to be honest. . .being blind an all. . .

I should be happy.

Or, just. . .happier, maybe.

Maybe.

-Daisy

PS - I apologize for the lack of sense this post title makes, but it is what it is. . .let it mean what you want, I guess. Or just let it mean killer whale. . .