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Song in my head: still Something for Nothing Mood: mellow Current book: still Blindsighted - but I finished Richard's book Yesterday was our Grove class's trip to Brighton Beach and although I'm never too fond of the sand-in-everything aspect of the beach, I forgot just how much I love the beach otherwise. The feel of the sand shifting under my towel as I move, making a pocket to fit me. Watching people, all these different looking people, hairy or smooth or fat or thin or pale or dark or whatever, everyone exposed in a way they usually aren't - I like looking at people's bodies, just to look, observe, take in. I love closing my eyes and seeing the red of the sun behind my eyelids and listening to the catcalls and faint music and above all the ceaseless pounding of the surf. I love lying quiet with my eyes closed and just bake, take in all that heat, feel it diffuse through my whole body, warming me. I only wish I had worn a bathing suit instead of shorts and t-shirt, to feel decadently undressed and exposed myself, to feel the sun on my thighs, my back, the tops of my breasts, all that heat and light in places that are usually dark and covered. (And even in the midst of this reverie, mind you, all covered in SPF 30 or more!) Not to mention the pleasure of singing with our class as if we were the ebb and tide of the surf ourselves, of crafting a sand goddess and dancing and singing around her at the edge of the water, and I rolled my shorts (capris, really) as far as they would go and the waves still dampened the hems anyway, and I love the feel of the water crashing against me and then rolling back, that never-ending motion that lulls and captivates me. Ah, I do need to go back. I want to go back to Rockaway Beach; I've never been without Louis (he's the one who first brought me there) but I want to go without him now (obviously!), to watch the real waves, the ones that make me a bit nervous, go really far past the last stop on the A train, the beach where I went topless for the first time. Something about the sun and the surf and the seabreeze always wakes some longing that is never too far below the surface anyway. I spent a lot of time yesterday looking at all these men wearing nothing but shorts and how I wanted to be with someone that I could walk behind and slip my hands around his waist, up his chest, feel him under my hands and bring him close against me. It's a manageable feeling, thankfully - I was able to enjoy the longing and awakening of desire without self-pity and sadness (well, maybe a slightly pleasant bittersweet twinge of sadness) - but I feel ready, mildly nervous and anxious, but ready nonetheless, ready to slowly encounter someone new and perhaps feel physical affection and sexual pleasure as something a little scary - eroticism as sensation beyond the ordinary, if that makes any sense - but pleasureably so, not dangerous. Not sure I'm making any sense here, but that's okay. I think I'm only beginning to wake up to what I really want out of my life's experiences. I'm going camping with Marty and Aimee and Chloe and Neil for July 4th, what a wonderful way to spend the weekend, and I've never been camping and I've never been to New Hampshire or Vermont, and I'm hoping I find the experience of the woods as enjoyable as I find the beach. Just as long as I remember bug spray! So, yes, I did finish Richard's book; if nothing else, it was a great read. There were some minorly dull football-heavy spots, but less than I'd expected, actually, and the ending was quite strong. You'll just have to read it - I don't do spoilers. Or book reports. Although it was interesting to read from the perspective of "what do I have to learn about him from reading his book?" Something I noticed a lot was how often he mentioned how he would lie about things - like how he got the job in Mississippi by lying about his qualifications, and the editor knew it and hired him anyway - and well, it's just something to keep in mind. Anyway, today's the Pride parade, so I'd best get ready!
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