Wacanda

We sold the boat. It's a '58 Wacanda. Still looks like a Buick to me. Some guy who used to live in Ashland bought it. Now I hope K will search for another one. I loved cruising around under the bridges of Portland. It wasn't a fishing boat, wasn't meant to be... but we'll find the right one. I want a sun cover, a lid of some kind.

Here's my diet plan (in case you were wondering): chocolate soy milk all day and a -- what do they call it? -- a sensible dinner. Sensible. I'm sure that's the part of the plan that will undo me. Me and sensible never did get along. I will make homemade pizza tonight. But really, I do like Soy Slender. It is sweetened with Splenda and is rich and yummy and only has one carb. I only eat meals to find my way to the sweet stuff anyway and this will short circuit all that chewing. I hate lettuce.

I have gone this long without talking about pain. I'll keep going.

So, its back to beach fishing on The Mighty Columbia with the beach boys. We saw one caught last weekend -- one -- but hear that they (Dept. of Fish and Wildlife) are closing the season due to low fish-counts. So salmon fishing is pretty much over anyway. We'll try for sturgeon. They are big and fight hard and you can only keep certain sizes, like, between 4 and 5 feet long. What the hell am I supposed to do with a four and a half foot long fish that looks like a prehistoric monster? I'm not cleaning it. I just want to be very clear about that. Catching halibut out on the sea is another thing. YOu come back in from the trip and there are fish maidens awaiting the catch who gut out and filet the halibut for a price you are more than willing to pay. Coastal women, wind-worn and harsh, who look better at closing time and know good jokes. I used to be one. I know.

My fucking arm hurts.

There.

It snowed. It is not snowing here at this moment (you should see the news: "Its snowing out here in the Cascades!! Two days in a row now!!" This is in the shadow of Mt. Fucking Hood for Chrissake, of course its snowing.) Anyway, I was planning to charge out this morning and do stuff in spite of pain. In absolute rejection of pain, of this invalid season, this supine lifestyle, flipping side to side on a sofa that will not cooperate, like a too-round piece of meat, always just this side of comfort. I have visions of health, but rather eat myself into a carbohydrate coma with two pieces of peanut butter toast. Why would you have one when there are two slots? I am so susceptible. I am so tired of tired. So sick of sleep. So ready for spring.

Whhhhiiiiinnnnneeee.

But it snowed, so my visions of walking Sid in Laurelhurst park are delayed for another day, or a later time. But really, I can't see sitting here a whole lot longer. I am bored, watching the same striped hat pass my window this morning as last, thinking about my own hat, my many-colored Carson City Heidi Hat that my husband got me matching mittens for last Christmas. And a tall bike just went by, three bikes tall, and I can't show you a picture of it because I don't know how to use a digital camera.

Life goes on below me, around me, and this is time off work. I want to embrace it and have only one arm. Time takes time.