Thoughts Before Bed:

My swimsuit from this weekend's swim is finally dried out. I squeezed out all the chlorine pool water, then gave it a good soaking in tap water, and squeezed it out again to drip dry.

I was just in the bathroom to take my pills before bed, and I caught a look at it hanging on its hanger. It's very much a woman's swimsuit. Shimmery spandex with bright purple trim. This isn't my first swim suit. In fact, I gave away my other one when it didn't fit anymore after having sat in a closet for nearly 20 years unused.

But there was a time when something like that was forbidden. I wasn't supposed to have that. Much less wear it to a pool. Having one felt wrong because it "wasn't for me." I mean, I knew it was right for me, but everyone else thought otherwise. And so I didn't have one, and when I did I rarely used it, late at night at an apartment pool until the neighbors complained.

And now it just sits there, all dry and ready for the next pool event. It doesn't care if I should have it or not, it's just doing it's job as best it can. And, twenty years after my last swim, and fourty from my last real regular swim, wearing it feels right.

It's fine for me to wear. I can use it. I should use it. I will use it.

After I get some safety pins to keep my darned skirt on.