Next.

I swam today.

It's been two years.

The water was as beautiful as always, the pool fabulously, invitingly, empty. Cold sapphire coloured water distorting the cheap granite facing on the tiles underneath. Little orange buoys bobbing at the other end, asking to me to lift a leg, stretch an arm, cut through cold fluid, come over. Come over. Little drops of water'd coalesced on my stubbornly brown skin, paling now because of the cold. Fine black hairs standing up on the tips of tiny white goosebumps. Orange sky. Faintly oily, slightly slick skin. So much for waterproof sunblock. Oily rubbish. Cheap shit.

The water is so cold, I love it, so cold. My arms are freezing. My mother will kill me. I began to swim. I swam. I was done in an hour or so.. I left.


I hated it. I'm never doing it again.


Inexplicable, really, how you can be so completely indifferent to something you once felt so much for. For all that I loved to swim once, I felt nothing close to enjoyment this time over. This is it, then.... swimming bores me now. I've been wondering when it will happen. It's not often that I sustain an interest in things as long as I have in this.


I wonder what's up next. And how long I will take to tire of it.