I went surfing yesterday. I never quite stood up, but I refused to give up. I was on a short board, which is apparently harder than a long one, and I refused to try the long one for that reason. I kneeled. I rode waves in on my stomach, again and again. I find it ironic that I get hooked on surfing just as I'm about to leave for a country who's summers equal our winters. I got knocked out by my board, and went under the water. I don't remember it. But I was pulled out, had a vomit, and then after I stopped shaking I went straight back out, determined to stand. You once described me as "fiercely independant". It remains to this day one of my greatest compliments, though I doubt it was meant to be at the time. My friends and I, who are splitting up around the globe as of Saturday, stood in a circle, holding matching keyrings that one of us secretly bought, and got another beachgoer to deliver. We followed the directions on a piece of paper, and did 2 jumps to the left, and two "dainty hops" to the right, then a hip thrust and a shoulder shimmy, threw our "jigalots" (keyrings) in the air and clapped twice before catching them. And sealed our pact - that we would be together again in 12 months time. I am burned to a crisp, my muscles ache, and I feel a bit giddy. And yet I have never felt more alive, nor more wanted than in those moments of crazy stupidity, with hundreds of people watching a strange group of friends make a bond that only they understood.
