It appears that the last month or so has constituted a noted trough in the ongoing oscillation of blogging about ‘stuff’. There’s been plenty around to write about, but then again most of that would simply be taking stuff from BoingBoing and putting it here. There have been the occasional thoughts and intent to get something worthwhile up; afterall, there have been things happening in my life – the birth of a beautiful new niece, celebrating 2 years with my wonderful girl, a new crew at Beach Volleyball, friends coming and going from this little galaxy in southern Queensland that I call home. I’ve drafted new songs, read interesting books and drunk too much on a frighteningly common basis. Facebook has also reared its ugly head.

So as I sit here, somewhat bothered at recent goings on, slightly uncertain as to whom I may have offended in the course of action and inebriation yesterday, and quite simply hungover, I have a chance to reflect on my Black Line Catharsis. A kilometre or so of alone time with which comes an opportunity to ponder, reflect and cleanse oneself in preparation for tomorrow, the day after, and so on… It’s not quiet time, with the blobb-blobbing of water passing ears infected and blu-tacked, airbubbles meandering where the laws of the world will them, and the hubbub of voices filtered through my aqueous surroundings. But it is alone time. Quite often the beginning is unpleasant, as recent events are recounted (and re-encountered) and picked apart – more often than not the foolish actions of an intoxicated fool. But they pass – expired much like the bubbles trailing behind and above. Occassionally, they’ll still be swimming alongside on the return lap…

But the rhythm and the motion and the feeling of doing something often help to take the mind off terrestrial worries; an opportunity to count (and lose count) like a 2 year old as laps pass unnoticed or far too slowly. A thought about the kick, or the pull, or the breath, or the speed, or the rhythm, or the pain, are enough to bring the focus sharply to the now. And with that, much like a big bowl of rhubarb with sugar, I am cleansed, happy and tanned on my back. So thankyou daily swim for the smell of chlorine and a lighter mind that remain after lesser woes have been wrung out of my freshly dropped dick-togs….