Ebb and Flow

Sleep should have come already.

In six hours I will be on my way to the gym to work my last Saturday of the semester. A five hour shift spent watching little kids and the Vh1 video countdown, and hopefully get some studying done in between it all. Seven dollars an hour. I'd give anything to not have to go.

Tonight I met a dear friend and my sister downtown. We sat outside and talked and laughed and ate pizza from Joe Bologna's (thin crust, ranch sauce, chicken, broccoli, artichokes, and black olives. Best creation ever.). We talked about how stupid boys are. And about how amazing we are. About how if we would just say that enough, it would become true.

I sat there being ignored by someone who had been interested last week, watching the UofL fans being booed back to their campsites outside the stadium, watching the traffic lights turn yellow and red and green again. I am amazing, I told myself. Tonight I have a hard time buying it.

It's been a rough week. For some reasons quite clear, but also for a few I cannot explain.

I'm reading this book, Between the Tides (from where I learned about in medias res). "From the lowest ebb comes the highest tide." I sat on my lunch break and read those words, curious as to what they meant. The phrase "ebb and flow" have always intrigued me; the author goes on to explain that when the tide goes out, leaving all the shells and seaweed and exposed beach, eventually the tide will come back in again. Higher than ever. Full of more life, of more energy, than ever before. "From the lowest ebb..."

We've batted around calling my coffee shop Ebb and Flow. I need to come up with a design for a tattoo that symbolizes this; this ever changing, yet cyclical rhythm.

Everything dovetails together in the end. Being in the middle of a cycle of ebb and flow... territory forever foreign and familiar.

I am signing up for a retreat next month. Possibly by myself. The first retreat in years. A door to a whole new existence... a whole new experience.

I think I am going skydiving in a few weeks. Possibly. Kearney sings (his heart, I would bet, in medias res): "No parachutes or safety nets here. One foot in the water to face these fears. Coming out strong like I can't be wrong I said eh, I won't fall in the middle."

I have a test on Monday, that I might possibly pass if I would just study.

There is a story waiting for me in the gorilla gardens of Lexington, if Professor Benton will respond to my emails.

There are tickets to be bought for Nickel Creek and Dave Barnes. And a rivalry football game to be watched tomorrow night.

But first, as is the cycle, will come morning. And I will roll off the couch (tonight is the sort of night you fall asleep reading on the gently-worn sofa) and into the car and complain about it being too early. And then I will meet with my landlord. Some tears will be shed and I will be frustrated and something (at least one thing tomorrow) will be resolved.

At least one decision will be made and life will continue to flow.

"The lowest ebb brings the highest tide."

Here I am. The wet sand covers my feet, seeping in between my toes. Surrounded by seaweed and seashells. I can see the sky goes on forever, the water "chasing the horizon". My hair being whipped by a briny wind. Here I am, waiting. Waiting for the high tide.

But first will come morning.