as a swimming instructor in high school, i had a few favorite classes that i always looked forward to teaching. i'd space them in between the screaming 6-year-olds who were deathly afraid of the water, and the 8-year-olds that loved to "kick like a motorboat" a little too much, drawing glares from the elderly lap swimmers within splashing distance. my favorite classes were the stroke classes, where i had the option of staying out of the water, pacing the deck as my student swam, calling instructions and giving drills while wrapped in my warm towel. saturdays, those classes were all i taught, and i'd come to class wearing my bathing suit as a formality. but it would never fail that some well-meaning child couldn't quite understand the body wiggle that is the butterfly stroke, and after 5 minutes of explaining with words and hand motions and nearly obscene pelvic thrusts from the side of the pool, the truth would be clear. i needed to get in the water. it was the right thing to do. i was being PAID to teach well, but when it came to giving up my dry legs to the wet goosebumps and smell of chorinated indoor-pool water, i almost didn't care. eventually, of course, i'd jump in and make my point, physically move the kid's hips through the up-and-down butterfly motion, and he'd swim off like a little fish. but the moment of choice, the surrender to the water, was never easy. i feel similarly about writing lately.

i've bought a journal, a patchwork fabric one with blank pages. i'm using it for all kinds of things: cut-outs from magazines, random thoughts, quotes from books i'm reading. the real reason that i bought it, though, is that i felt like i needed a place to unleash my thoughts away from your eyes. i don't know what i thought i had to write, but i needed to know that whatever it was, i could let it out without criticism and follow it wherever it wanted to go. i've been walking a friend through a tough time in her life, one that resembles a tough time i had in my own life, and i wasn't sure what feelings that would stir in me, what monsters might rise out of my own ashes. here i am again, though, back to letting your eyes in. sometimes i've questioned if i edit myself here on this page, but what ended up on the pages of my patchwork journal was no more crazy or true than what i find myself writing now. so although i'm doing a lot of travelling to new cities and visiting friends and computer access isn't always easy to find, i just wanted to let you know that i'm back. i hope you missed me.