Sober reflection causes me to regret, or at least feel remiss, not going out for a mud walk in the Netherlands. Its that time of year for it; right about now I would be visiting my sister in Amsterdam. Kate went for her first wadlopen four years ago. She was sick, but nevertheless headed out into the low tide. Acoustic guitars, this NYT article about trudging through the mud, a late night granola binge, anxiety about a website meeting with my boss tomorrow, excitement about the pieces of the camera arriving, stomach ache from too much organic Cascadian Farm maple brown sugar granola, melancholy from old photos of my family, melancholy from tonight’s episode of Deadliest Catch, melancholy possibly related to the copious amount of granola binged upon, granola gas worry, maple brown sugar taste lingering on, gas from the granola. The bottom line is, its late. I have a meeting tomorrow. Deadliest Catch is sad because Captain Phil died. Family photos are sad because people I love die. Stomach ache. Cat biting hand. Acoustic guitars. Cat tearing at skin on arm.
“The old folks wake up for the day
Seeing the monsters have lingered from the past
And a great bird is flying away
From our family tree; something wrong with me” -Band of Horses
I want to wake up to a fading dream of Roly Poly dog’s paw prints in the dawn mud, his tail bobbing towards the sunrise.
There are bigger and better dragons to fly than the mud-walk. 3rdarm, I hope you’re OK in the forever-now. Do some yoga. Possibly a headstand to dislodge the granola-clump. It’s all in good fun.