We had the big fat fun at the beach. My neck still hurts from all the looking up I had to do. Those waves were hella big. Those waves kicked my ass. Then they rubbed my face in the sandy ocean floor. Then they spit me out, well-chewed.

In the water, I could not pay attention to the incessant thought grooves my brain�s fallen into. I had to battle my way through the waves, just to get out far enough so that I was not knocked down every 10 seconds. I had to dive through the waves or I had to jump over them or I had to turn my back to them and let them wash over me or let them knock me down. I want to be back there right now. In past the breakers, searching the horizon for the next swell, alone and working to stay afloat.

Blythe and I sat on the beach occasionally while Shawn swam. We snuck cigarettes. She tried to build a sand castle. I tried not to think. I forgot my sunscreen and burned my back.

Later, Blythe tried to get Bill to figure out a way to hook me up with a boy who lives here in my town who they know and like. Bill and I serenaded Blythe with a song from Fiddler on the Roof. I�ll let you guess which one. She always tries to set me up with boys. She�s pretty cute. She said, �There�s only one thing that�s not so good about him.� I gave her a look. She said, �His name�s Lindsey.�

What else? We went to dinner at the Burrito Barn and I�m still gnawing away at my burrito, which, as Blythe pointed out, weighed as much as a small baby.

Shawn and I drove home in the dark and I fought to stay awake by listening to classic rock. Bash rested his head on Shawn�s lap. Sweet boys. Lovely times.

My landlords are coming over tonight. This makes me 10 kinds of nervous. I don�t know why. Except now, they�ll know. Right.

I also have to write my resume, a most hateful task, by tomorrow because I�m meeting with the guy who�s going to give me teaching work. Blah. Blick. Bloo.

Doesn�t the world understand that I just want to be alone and to be forgotten for a few days? No talking, no meetings, no looking, no nothing.

Countdown until the rest of my family shows up: 60 hours. Wackado wackado.