I began the morning in a foul mood.  Well, once I remembered foolish things said and done, emotions felt and guilt possessing me.  As I tried to push these thoughts out of my head, I fell into a familiar pattern:  stuck in a thought without an outer action, then trying to do something else while the thoughts macheted their way back into the forefront jungle of my mind.

So I did what I always need to do: surrender to those thoughts and feelings, hoping that processing them will make them stop.   This works, briefly, but then I settle into state of slight discontent.

 

I needed to do my laundry today,  desperately.  Mostly desperately.  I borrowed a shirt from Matt and put on the one skirt I brought (not worn since ‘the incident’) which I later discovered has a small stain on it.  I easily found my way to the laundry, put in my shekels and let it roll.

 But then I began to ponder drying my clothes.  Should I?  Is it just a waste of money?  Matt said he hasn’t dried his clothes since he’s been here but alas, I am more picky and want my jeans dry now.  They’re my new security blanket and the closest thing I have to be fashionable, my fall back blanket.  I choose to dry but realize that the bill feeder on the machine is broken and I must rustle up some shekel coins.  I had heard of a mini mart and seen signs but not stumbled upon it.  I head out, wander for 7 minutes yet feeling much longer, increasingly frustrated and self conscious of my actions.  

Sidenote:  I hate being self conscious.  I hate valuing other people’s opinions yet it was the exact reason I was in such a bad mood this morning.  And it is usually the source of many of my varied frustrations.  I do not understand (or rather am just jealous of) those who don’t ever seem to care what others think, nor have they ever.  I get that in fleeting glimpses.  I hope for it everyday but perhaps it just needs to flow.  

Conceding to my lack of knowledge I suck it up and ask someone.  ”Just around the corner.”  Of course it is.  I enter, purchase the three things I get in every country (a can of Coke, Snickers bar and large water.  2 of these purchases need to stop) and receive my shekel coins.  Laundry is dropped in to dry and I have 30 minutes to fill.  (yes, Mr. Cwodzinski, fill.  I take this advice with me everywhere I go and spread it like Israel hummus on fresh pita: most generously).  

Not knowing what to do, I step outside into the sun and glance to my left at the playground.  Presumably for those students with children.  There is a swing set with 2 seats.  Reminiscing about how much fun I always had as a child, I head towards them.

My, how time has changed things.  The swings are much lower to the ground than I remember and the metal hooks dig slightly into my womanly hips.  I cannot recall the last time I sat on a swing but certainly it was before I got these curves.  Settling in, I gently begin to swing.  

 

And swing and swing and swing. I cannot put my legs under to pump so I hold them straight out, doing all the work with my arms and abs.  (Only as an adult would I notice how swinging works your core).  And glee fills me.  It breaks past the self pity and indulgent guilt. A smile cracks my sullen veneer.  I’ve jumped out of planes and off mountains to get a rush but the simple and childhood act of swinging brings it forth and sustains it.  I no longer care what the world thinks because I realize how silly, how foolish, how absolutely ridiculous it all is.  

I swing and rock out to She & Him until I need to fetch my laundry.  Then I set off, renewed.