divine angst

Mr. Angst and I went to the beach today.

I always think that I love the beach. And I do, especially when it’s a freshwater beach. But I really dislike sand. That is problematic for going to the beach. And the beach we went to, unlike the Gulf Coast beaches of my childhood, didn’t seem to have a shower station or other kind of facility for rinsing the sand off on one’s way home. That’s also a problem. Sand in shoes hurts. Sand in other places chafes. Sand in your apartment is a pain to clean up.

But I do love the beach–the parts that involve laying in the sun and going in the water. I wish the beaches here were also the kinds of places where you could sip a cold beer while laying in the sun and going in the water. But alas, no alcohol. [Honestly, this is not such a big deal, since I trust myself to behave like an adult while drinking at the beach but I don’t trust the 22-year-olds who were right behind us to not act like fools.] I digress, though.

The best part about spending a couple of hours at the beach is the pleasant languidness you feel when you get home. If you do it right, the sun will leech just enough energy from you that you feel sort of soft and floaty, similar to the way you feel after a good run.

Happy Sunday, all.