Bobbing

Sometimes there are bad days. There may be no earthly reason for it, but they happen. It's not vogue to talk about. Putting into words the feeling that you're bobbing in a sea of angry.

But I'll try.

You are in an ocean, just past the sandbar. Your feet dangle in weightlessness. Your arms move in long, slow circles to keep yourself upright. It's so cold the tips of your fingers grow numb. Water sputters from your mouth, and when you swallow you taste salt and grit.

A wave washes overhead. You tumble. Struggle to open your eyes. They sting. Beneath the surface, all you can make out is whorls and swirls of brown and grey. For a few seconds it's not clear which way is up, but somehow you manage to pull free, right yourself, and pump your legs to freedom.

Then it's past.

A few minutes later, another wave washes overhead.

I should mention. As you submerge, you can't even remember what it's like to be dry and warm. There is only a sense of sinking and ice and darkness. (No perspective, see?)

I hope this isn't as boring as if I'm describing a dream. Extended metaphors can be so dreadful.