The Cure

I was sitting at Lake Powell this weekend, or rather, floating, because I was actually perched on a houseboat called the Beach Leech that was stretching up and down in some beautiful green water that nobody really wanted to dive into because it was cold and filled with thigh-sized carp who leapt out of said water to chomp stray Cheezits.
I prepared for the great float by packing many non-drowsy Dramamines to avoid uniting the Cheezits in my stomach with the Cheezits in the water, because I grew up one of those children who would hurl if they even thought about a car, Space Mountain, or a sailboat. My aunt teasingly recalls the innumerable times she unsuccessfully attempted to catch my barf on its way to the car floor from my carseat when she was my age and I was three, and I am sure I have many months of upchuck to look forward to when I am pregnant. In Hawaii (at thirteen, in the ugliest week of my life) I went on a whale watch and ended up smooshed survival-mode into my mother's armpit for three hours, half green and half sunburnt, moaning and mourning my sailing career before it had even begun.

I stretched up and down on a boat for three days this dreamy weekend. I didn't cause any Cheezit reunions, in fact, I was surprised to find myself incredibly soothed by the rocking instead of endlessly uncomfortable and tinged the color of the water. My stomach never sent the whoaaaaaaaa message to my brain that it usually does upon being jiggled, and I never once felt nauseated. Conversation was often fallen into on the rainy bits of the day, but just as often, quiet dominated in our little group, and I would stare out the window. The rocking put me almost to sleep every time. I have come to find that rocking is good for chewing and thinking, and chewing thoughts. I have a rocking chair in my bedroom that has also served to rock me lately, instead of holding clean socks and underwears. I put new sleeves on shirts and dresses, and I rock, and I chew. Suddenly I am a champion rocker.

The rocking of a boat continues far after you've left it; even as I sit here at work, my monitor tips lazily from side to side and my brain swishes in its juices. My lips are sunburned, a little swollen; they tingle when I eat savory things, and that reminds me, too. I have matching hickies from each strap of my bathing suit, where they rubbed against my collarbone as I jumped up and down on the jet ski. I ate pieces of avocado with salt off the sandwich tray and drank cream soda after cream soda as I watched the straight dock line move up and down through the front window. I rocked and slept out under the stars this weekend, big stars that looked icier than usual. I tried to stay awake for these stars, but I was lulled asleep by the gentle motionings of the house.

You're reading at the writing location of the newest member of the community of rockers.
Happy to be here.