Senseful ramblings of an incoherent nature from a delusional schizophrenic (or my views on current events)

Thursday, October 05, 2006

Bobbin' Away in My Barrel

At first I heard nothing but a low rumble as the water I was swimming in began to wave, not unlike the water in the glass in that stellar dinosaur movie Jurassic Park. boom-boom. boom-boom.

Breath. Dive.

The door slowly creaked open and a pale, mealy looking foot appeared, followed by an equally pale and mealy cankle. The rest of the leg emerged, complete with no definition other than pock marks - probably a result of too much sitting in front of a TV on a couch that doesnt breath well. The rest of the body was grossly worse. Perhaps this was a woman, once. Boom-boom. Boom-boom.

Breath. Dive.

“It” was big, not just overweight, but truly big - the kind of big where water aerobics really is the only option for exercise because everything else will just wreck the knees and any other joint that unfortunately gets in the way. Not tall/big mind you, trollishly small in fact, but wide/big. "It’s" legs rubbed together at each step, not allowing hair to grow where it normally would and leaving a reddish rash in "It’s" ever present wake. The bathing suit was, thankfully, a one piece, a dark blue number. Darker colors hide problem areas, although no suit could be quite dark enough. The arms were equally angry, mainly because the body between them wouldnt allow for them to meet in the middle

Breath. Dive.

"It’s" face was angry. Not for any reason other than years of frowning for no reason at all. Jolly it was not. The eye-lids were covered with angry skin. The check bone completely absent and the chin infinitely duplicated. The downward turned lips were wrinkled from years of over use. “It” wheezed, “one or two?”

Breathe. Dive.

“One.” Another figure appeared, almost twinnish in nature and garb – just as pale and mealy, but apparently with worse eyes. Boom-Boom. Boom-Boom. The second monster got in the pool, proving the physical laws of displacement to be true as the water level rose dramatically. Boom-Boom.

Breath. Dive. Spin.

The other behemoth trotted over to the pool closet and removed two pool flotation devices. BOOM-BOOM. Both were long and thin, made of Styrofoam, or some other sort of flotation material. One was purple, the other green – both had the look of terror in their non-existent eyes. BOOM-BOOM. “It” made "It’s" way back to the pool ladder and lowered herself into the pool. Displacement in action again.

Breath. Dive.

The one handed the purple floatation device to the other and they both made their way to the middle of the pool, taking over the lane where I was swimming my laps. Sure there were three other open lanes in the pool, but mine was already warmed up from my use, so I guess it was the most inviting.

Breath. Rest.

They each placed the floatation devices between their unfortunate legs and began to jump up and down. I can only imagine that the water between their feet and the bottom of the pool must give them a similar experience as the wind would give a normal person who has just jumped off of the ground.

If you panted these “It’s” red on top and white on the bottom they would resemble fishing bobbers, if you were fishing for Grey Whales. If they were orange, each could be the Great Pumpkin, Charlie Brown. Then again, if they were red they would be apples in a rather large bobbing tank for Paul Bunyan and his blue Ox.

Breath. Dive.

After bouncing up and down for a good ten minutes, and probably each burning what, one calorie between the two of them (?), they began bouncing up and down and moving forward and back in the pool, although their speed could only be equaled by that of the grass growing.

As I would pass them in the pool their force would push me almost entirely out of my lane. And the wake that they left behind made the pool choppy and almost unmanageable. Ever see the movie The Perfect Storm, where two gigantic hurricanes converged and tossed George Clooney and friends around like they were in a toy boat? These two “Its” were each a storm, respectively, and I was the poor little fishing boat.

Breath. Dive.

Thankfully I learned that I could swim under their wake and come through unscathed, an option not available to Mr. Clooney, but my trials werent over, not by a long shot. As I resurfaced I realized that these celestial bovines were inching closer to my lane, and by proxy, to me. Now they were moving perpendicular to the lanes in the pool, still hopping up and down, but without the aid of their floatation devices.

The bottom of the pool, regardless of the weight being dispersed by the aid of the water, stressed under their collective pressure. I nearly incurred their wrath, but managed to quickly adjust my direction and skate by uninjured.

Breath. Move over two lanes. Dive.

It was at this point that I came to the realization that I needed to hedge my bets and get out before I was taken out. I quickly headed towards the ladder, avoiding the whirlpools caused by their shifting bodies, and leaped out, prideful that I did not meet my demise at the hands of these two brooding beasts.

I doubt the pool will ever be the same.

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