Now
Tired. Tired of needing so much. Tired of thinking I need so much. Tired of not knowing. Anything.

Stupid. Stupid and sad and stuck.

I loved the air today. The afternoon breeze, charging through the gate and off the bay and over the marshes directly south of here, was cool and felt like fall.

Niko in bed, just before lights-out, his sheet pulled up to his neck, his hair pushed back from his forehead: loved that the best.

Today, I spoke to a kind and exuberant and beautiful woman about wine. Can't beat that.

So what about that stuff? Those moments. Those experiences.

I suppose I need to count them on the other side of the ledger -- they belong it seems on the not-stupid, not-sad and not-stuck side. Or maybe I need to put a fucking match to the ledger, stop assessing, delete this puke of a post and pull my head out of my self-indulgent whining ass. Or, alternatively, my self-indulgent whining head out of my ass. Whichever.

This much I know: I'll go to the pool tomorrow dreading all the laps ahead of me, dreading them more than death it seems. But I'll get in. And about two-thirds of the way through, around the mile mark, I'll realize that I'm alive and, fuckin-a, perhaps in charge of this thing my life.