Trying to come up for air

So far this week has had moments that have been kind of like the time in California when I was ten years old and somebody decided I should take another round of swimming lessons. Okay. Except this time the teacher was a mean old, grouchy old man. Not at all like the kind, sweet, beautiful mermaid teacher I'd had for the first four weeks. We were racing in about six or eight feet of water. I didn't quite have my freestyle breathing coordinated, got a mouthful of water, choked a little, and couldn't get my breath. I tried to bob up and down so that I could get a good push off the bottom of the pool and clear the surface to get a good breath so that I could swim back to the side, but I couldn't get all the way to the bottom. I kept bobbing. I was getting tired and annoyed and what little breath I had left was about gone. Suddenly I was yanked out of the water by one of the teacher's assistants, a sweet high school or college student who seemed a lot more panicked than I was. She sort of frantically asked me if I was okay. "Are you okay??!!" Oh. Was I okay? I gasped for breath, blinked, and decided I was okay. "Yeah. I'm okay." We swam back to the side together where the mean old, grouchy old teacher yelled at me for not yelling for help. Now how was I supposed to yell for help if I couldn't get my head above water? Yep. It's been kind of like that a few times this week.