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Sports. This is the Devil’s way of siphoning out the co-ordinated from the clumsy. In school you have no choice, sport is a part of your curriculum no matter how good you are. As an adult, you’d think that makes things simpler. You’d think the days of heckling are behind you because you get to choose which sport you’re going to do, if any. And for the life of me, I’m still wondering why I put myself into these situations.

Let’s talk about swimming. I mean, there’s not much that could go wrong besides drowning, right?

Wrong.

There’s swimwear that doesn’t fit your body shape – unless you’re a man. Yes, the men get it easy. A pair of shorts. That’s it. No fuss.

But, women? Ohhhhhh. . . No! First we have to decide if we want an all-in-one piece, and no matter what, that costume will ride up your butt when you try to exit the pool without slipping on the rungs of the ladder.

Then there’s the bikini/tankini, and you know what? Doesn’t matter what size you buy, guaranteed one half will be too small/big. Don’t even get me started on the practicality of strapless tops; those are not swim-friendly if you wanna keep the ladies tucked away nicely.

And after all of that there’s still the issue of actual swimming. I try my best, honestly, but there’s some part of me that can’t help but try and show off even when I know it’s going to end in disaster. It’s like accelerating in a 1-litre engine car against a 16-cyclinder Bugatti Veyron.

Disappointing. Laughable. Pathetic.

I can’t help it though when I see him strolling out of the changing rooms into the pool. I have to regain some kind of composure after my terrible fart escapades last week. I can’t catch a break – 3 weeks ago I’d never laid eyes on Drew. Now he’s everywhere I go, and every time a little spark flies between us, I manage to ruin it all like a goddamn wrecking ball.

Here is my chance to rectify that.

I manage to escape the water without injury, and I step up on to the diving block ready to show off the dive I’ve been trying to perfect since I was a kid. I catch his eye and wink with a seductive smile too.

I don’t know, I’m feeling brave all of a sudden.

I bring my legs together, and breathe in and out as I tuck my head in my arms ready. I rise on my tiptoes, and just as I’m about to jump I lose my balance, slip on the wet block, lose my leg half way down the water, and the rest of my body tumbles down in a big ol’ belly flop.

My skin stings from the impact, but I stay underwater. I’m too embarrassed to resurface anyway.

While I wait down here, watching the bubbles float from my mouth, I’ll tell you my name. My friends call me Lib or Libbie, but my real name is Liberty. I tend not to use it though because every day I’m reminded by my own name that my life really is just that.

A liberty.

Oh, how I’ve been doomed from the start.

Stay tuned for more adventures next week in Living Funny; Dying Clumsy

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I pounded my head against the desk again, frustrated at my lack of creativity. The word document open on my white laptop held the same sentence I’d deleted, rewritten, and deleted again before deciding it was actually decent enough to keep. #Irritating

I closed the document, and clicked on the internet icon knowing exactly where I was heading – Social Media. Twitter, Facebook, an update on the blogosphere, anything was better than having to scrunch my brain into writing something worthwhile.

Between self-doubt and procrastination feeding each other, I wasn’t getting very far. The blank wall always seemed infinitely more interesting than any drivel I was sure to waffle on about.

Writing as a craft was exciting, exhilarating, stupefying and damn terrifying. I was alone in my pursuit to create a masterpiece, saving all comments for when my manuscript was perfectly polished to my satisfaction. Only then could I really appreciate the feedback. That was until the seeds of doubt grew into a mighty tree, and the evil demon sitting on my shoulder grew into the devil.

Do you ever feel like your head has turned into a jumbled mess?

I’d read articles online in an attempt to ease the warring conflict of what I thought was right and wrong. Trying to find the answer to my harmony. Was I good enough?

My already gooey brain turned into an even bigger slush pile, as the articles contradicted one another. What was I supposed to believe now? I liked logistics, and I liked rules, but when they clashed it left me with a headache, and an uneasy stomach.

Advice. That’s what I needed. The best I ever got was to forget about the rules and just write. I soaked up information like a sponge, and what I thought was the right way to do something, wasn’t the right way for me. I flexed out my fingers like a pianist, and bashed away at the keyboard. Something was better than nothing.

The key role to writing was that it was personal. My way wasn’t your way, but I’d still get there in the end. And wasn’t that the point? To share our passions with readers?

Writing was as solitary as I made it, but I wasn’t alone. Not really. I couldn’t expect my writing to be perfect, when I wasn’t a perfect human. I was my own worst enemy, but it was time to loosen the reins a little.

“Whatever happens, happens. We can’t go back in time, and there’s no point in guessing what might happen, it’ll cloud your judgement and you’ll second-guess your motives. No good can come from that. You need to believe in yourself Luna.”
– Riley, Nature’s Destiny, coming 2014