Thursday, March 5, 2009

Can I really be a beach bum when I grow up?

The first or maybe second to first description I was given of Jason was that he was a beach bum. He was verbally painted as a boy who lived in board shorts, board shirts, flip flops, and a fro. This description was incredibly appealing to me for reasons I will reveal later. For your information, Jason has graduated to tee shirts, jeans, and tennis shoes (only because the Honor Code says so) but that appreciation for everything oceanic has never disappeared. If you look at pictures of Jason as a teenager, you will notice a few things: his bedroom had an island theme; he wore a hemp bracelet and shell necklace, constantly; and whether it is in pictures or not, he had and still has an aversion to shoes. I don't know. Maybe it's because Jason was born in Honolulu. Actually, that's the only reason I can think of.
Anyways, this appealed to me because if I could be anything I wanted to be, I would probably be a beach bum. Honestly. Jason insists that being a beach bum takes a lot more thought and effort than just deciding to be one. He's probably right. I need to learn to swim better. But anyways, I was also born close to the ocean: about an hour away, in Southern California. However, in the six and a half years that I lived there, we never went to the ocean, probably due to my mother's irrational fear of sharks. I have visited the ocean exactly once. I was fifteen, and even though I came out of the water with a sore throat and stinging eyes, I was hooked.
Now, I have this unquenchable longing to go back to the Pacific Ocean. I dream about being at the beach frequently. When I can convince Jason to go into Hollister, I stand in front of their live feed of Huntington Beach and gaze longingly at the waves. The sound of crashing waves is one of my favorite sounds. Arghh. I just really really....want to go to that place. And that's basically it. Just one long, rambling, random thought.

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