Mental Health Day

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NOTE: Apologies for the banality of this blog post but let me explain: A photograph is required with each post. I have a film camera which I have not developed any photographs from. I take very few photos on my phone. I am left with very few options on what to write about because of lack of photos. Enjoy!

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 A couple of weeks ago I had (what I like to call) a ‘mental health day’. My mental health is fine, yet it seems to fit the bill when you need to convince yourself to skip a day of uni and enjoy the fruits of Mother Nature’s labour. As important as scholastic education is, there is much to be learnt through experience, particularly that in nature (queue Wordsworth). My sincerest apologies to any SFSU educators, administrators or hard-core university advocates and not to mention my parents for any upset I may cause but I learnt a fair bit on this glorious day of two weeks past.

Running: a grim exercise where sweat, chafe and breathlessness occur simultaneously to dissuade you from pursuing fitness ever again. Upon waking for my 9 am run, that definition loomed as I shoved a foot into each sneaker begging for the heavens to part and God’s piss to fall against the concrete slabs that constitute the city. To my disappointment the sun shone on and I dragged my puffy-eyed, hairy-legged self outside and into its mocking rays. With the wind in my hair, the sun kissing my face and my sweat mere beads upon my forehead, I decided running might actually have some benefits. And to top that revelation – a rainbow greeted me as I smacked through a delightful wall of mist. To my surprise, as it may shock all of you, running can be done.

In my chipper, happy-go-lucky mood I waltzed into my roommate’s bedroom to declare the day as sunny and spectacular. She grumbled, mumbled and rolled before I eventually enticed her with a coffee. We ventured to Baker Beach where one can view the Golden Gate Bridge against exposed hills and the azure blues of sky and sea; dogs leaping in the water’s froth; and naked men sprawling themselves in the sand, with the occasional masturbation able to be peripherally seen. San Francisco, you may be currently under siege my Techies but I have faith in you still.

Although wanting to join those brave souls baring their bottoms, as I took my top off I realised it was a little too nippy for my nipples and wore my bra and shorts in defeat. Still unsure if it was my alabaster skin glowing or my toplessness, a young fellow named Daniel whose bulbous stomach and mudded eyes repulse (sorry Daniel), proceeded to or at least attempted to hit on me. Although somewhat flattering, one feels rather vulnerable when lying down, half naked with a 350 lb. man standing above. After making up a boyfriend as if he were a recipe – long, curly hair, green eyes, tall, kind, shy, a poet, and not to mention always donning a hat – Daniel reluctantly peeled away as I put my shirt back on and enjoyed the salty air as the sun slightly dimmed and dipped.

Although I cannot specifically recall what I ate that evening, it would be safe to say that I ate a burrito which would be a fantastic end in itself, but alas we decided to keep our good fortune rolling and headed to the Mission for a drink. My splendid day ended with me in a drunken stupor claiming my love for the world and, more specifically, my bed as my muscles flaked away and I melted into a satisfied lump on the mattress.

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cordelia williamson
cordelia.williamson@gmail.com
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