The riptide

Every morning I wake to find myself lying on the sand. Every morning I rise and walk into the water.

Some days I’m equipped and get a thrill from the exhilaration of surfing the waves on a board. Other days I grab some driftwood floating past – giving me something to hold onto, to keep me afloat while I doggy-paddle. On the worst days I struggle to keep my head above the water, feeling overwhelmed and pulled down by a riptide.

Each day I’ve made it back to the shore at some point that evening, collapsing exhausted on the beach. I close my eyes and relive the day in a fitful sleep.

Then the cycle begins again.