Me Write Pretty Some Day

I'm well aware that my writing is not always what you might call 'polished.' People have told me so. And while I like to think that in my blog I write the way I talk, and that when I write papers and such I tread more gracefully, I want to give you a taste of my 'pretty' writing. Okay, okay, so this is mainly to prove to myself that I can do it. Actually, not even that. I know I can do it. I just want to do it here. So here goes (p.s. the repetition of the word 'here' was intentional). Now I sound arrogant. You know, maybe I should make use of the backspace key right about now. But no. All of this nonsense will help me prove my point. Here we go again (more 'here' repetition? Jeez, who does this kid think she is?):

There are few moments of intense clarity in our lives. All other moments, the ones we bathe in and swear in and try to work out impossible calculus problems in, are simply part of the muddle. I fancied myself in a rare moment this afternoon, when I went down to the dock to read.
I lay down gradually; I started out sitting with crossed legs, book propped against my ankles, and I slowly slumped until I was sprawled on my stomach. Turning to the side a bit, the cool metal against my cheek balanced out the sun blazing in my hair. It was a lovely day, and I wondered if anyone would happen to look out and grin with approval at the teenager improving her mind amongst nature.
I always liked the word grin. There was an entire image associated with it. For example, in order to really truly grin, you had to have your face to the wind. Your solid-colored t-shirt had to be blowing back against your chest. You had to be standing on either a hill or some sort of elevated object. You had to have your lips pressed flat to gums, and your teeth had to be glinting.
I pondered all of this while the swallows flitted by and gingerly dipped blue wings into blue water.
Every so often there would be a loud splash, and my head would lift in time to see two dragonflies (apparently attached somehow-this I didn't dwell on) buzzing away. How such small insects could create a splash equivalent to that of a small child doing a cannonball was beyond me.
I only went up when the dogs were whining so loudly in their kennel that the waves lapping against the shore seemed darker than usual.
I think, as I rest dirty legs against clean blankets on my bed, that the clarity has left me. I could go down to the dock again, I suppose. I could look out at the water and imagine myself very knowledgeable indeed. But it's too dark to see anything now; the swallows would peer down at me with sleep-heavy eyes and chuckle dreamily to themselves. Silly girl, she thinks she knows us.
Tomorrow they'll let me back, though. I'll sit there for hours, tanning arms around knees. I'll sit there until I can see straight to the bottom.