To Florida

It’s summer in Florida.

I’ve been spending a lot of time lately at the pool. Having first made a couple visits to the public pool on Ferncreek, I’ve relocated my poolin’ around to the small heart-shaped pool at my friend’s apartment complex, mostly because I’m trying vainly to tan away the necklace tan line I acquired months ago after a walk around Disney in a low-necked shirt wearing one of my necklaces. The neckwear left a mark that six days at the pool basking like a lizard in the relentless Florida sun have not managed to erase.

The rest of me, however, is tanning. I haven’t been this shade in a decade.

While I lie on my back in the water at my friend’s pool, I watch numerous airplanes coming from wherever making their way to Orlando International Airport. My friend lives right under a flight path, so the sound of a plane flying overhead will periodically accent the sound of chlorinated water rippling against the sides of a pool.

I’m on an unofficial countdown at the moment while my post-study work visa for the UK is processing, so although I’m, for lack of a better word, Florida-ing by spending time in the pool, working and hanging out at my job, going on impromptu field trips and shuffling along in my beat-up espadrilles, inside I’m crouched in anticipation, anxiety and excitement, waiting to hear word back from the British Consulate in New York City.

Until then, I’m trying to Florida as much as I can. Partly because I know there’s no way I can possibly tan this ghost of a necklace away off my skin in London, partly because I don’t want to think about what could possibly go wrong with my visa application–especially when the bank letter Co-op sent me has a typo on a date (thankfully not on anything pertinent to my visa, but still)–and partly because I don’t want to have no regrets. Although I’ve been ready to come back to London for some time, I’d like to make sure I get my fill of Florida and spend as much time with my friends here before I make my moves and trade the swimming pools of Orlando for the streets of London, my tanlines for leylines.


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