Saturday’s Hope

Dear J-

Sundays around 1PM are a little like Fridays around the same time — I’m about ready to throw in the towel and transition back to the nice relaxation of work.  As they say, though, the worst day of fishing trumps the best day at work, and hectic as these past couple of days have been (today was another day theVet worked at the free pet vaccine clinic), I wouldn’t have traded them for time at work.  Just saying a change is nice once in a while; ideally, I’d have every Wednesday off (that’s roughly when I start getting fed up with the red light on my phone indicating voice mail).

In contrast to the chaos of Saturday, though, today was relatively calm — everything done on a smaller scale:  trying a new place for breakfast (decadently rich crème brûlée French toast), smaller sealife (Birch Aquarium, instead of the acres of parking and walking under the baking Mission Bay sun of Sea World).  It worked, to a point, but perhaps we had churned the waters too much yesterday, and gave rise to all sorts of crazy expectations.

Treachery Ahoy -sm

The last thing, before bed, was a walk around the neighborhood, for the dogs constitutional, for a chance to unwind the springs in our legs.  figgy kept steering the trike onto grass and gravel, which I had soldiered through Saturday morning, when the world was new and full of promise; Sunday afternoon those same tactics, the same surfaces left me lurching and refusing to push any further, like some petulant child.  I need to keep moving forward and not let myself be discouraged so easily; I need to remember Saturday morning oracles of hope.



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