I Wish I Had A Fisherman’s Patience

At Albert Whitted Park this morning, I observed a man with a weighted net sitting by the water. He waited on someone as he stared into the lapping waves. I started my morning walk around him, and by the time I was done, he was still there, but this time, casting the net into the water. The person he was waiting on finally arrived.

I was able to do a half mile on my own today. Been out of the hospital now three weeks, but the muscle memory hasn’t kicked in fast enough for my desire. It only takes three days of inactivity for a body to lose its energy. I feel like an old woman, even though 40 is a couple years’ off.

Yet I push, and try to make the most of non-rainy moments. Sucks to be stuck in the house with no interest in writing or books when that’s all I’m surrounded by. I want to be out! I want to grab a beer. I want to talk to someone in their face, not by text messaging. I am bored.

Update your blog, I consider, and I consider that, in its abandon, something called SEMALT has taken over. I shudder knowing an innocent photo of me has likely been transmogrified into something completely different, in the universe of a Nicki Minaj cover photo. What am I gonna do; go up against some bloke in Brazil? Whatever man. As long as you are able to occupy your day.

To which I’m trying to do. Occupy time in a small space with limited mobility. Damn, damn, damn, this sucks! Someone entertain me! Pick me up, drive for me, trust me, I’ll be entertaining.

<sigh> I’m getting there. I feel that’s my life right now, waiting on me to show up, so we can play in the waters again. A fisherman’s patience, I wish I had.