Floating. So lovely, so pure. Nothing, not even myself, weighing me down. I could sleep on my back in that pool, so luxe, so soft, cradling me, rocking me. Bending my knees a bit more as I relax into it. It was like being supported by an invisible lounge chair, so, so niiiiice. And staring at the blackness of the sky, the bright blue illumination beneath me even prettier for the contrast.
I haven't had a pool for years. I don't live by an ocean any more, either, but the lake is big. It's a Great Lake. I've never seen anyone swim in it, although I suppose people do. I should check into that. I'm sure there's someplace online where you can do that.
I wonder if they let people know when the water is too toxic. They do that with the ocean. Or do you just have to keep an eye out for dead fish because it's just a Great Lake? That's would be another thing to check into. I certainly wouldn't want to be poisoned through my skin. Would there be fumes? All those birds that fell out of the sky - was that over a body of water?
I can't remember. I do remember going swimming with the family one summer afternoon, at Lazy River in upstate New York. Except it wasn't that lazy; I submerged and came up covered with leeches. Well, not covered. There weren't any on my hair or my swimsuit. The rest of me, yeah, but not my hair. Or my swimsuit. Wouldn't have objected to a little toxicity then - just enough for the leeches, not for people.
You need to be able to build up a little immunity to these things. Such a thing as too clean. For example, I myself only take a shower any more when I actually smell bad or my hair is really greasy, because, frankly, I'm terrified to fall in the tub. I do think I could probably drag myself to one or the other of the pull cords for the 911 service, though; they're pretty well-placed, so it's not that part. It's the aftermath, the not being able to get out and get the french toast essentials on my own, you know? Scary.
I hate being a wet blanket. I should probably learn how to just not sweat it so much.