I promise and promise to myself that I will write every day. The same thing goes for painting and drawing. In reality, I am lazy I think? I always stumble on one sentence, “I have nothing to say.” How is it even possible. I think part of this attitude is the fact that I spend most of my time alone with my dog and my own thoughts. However, no matter how brilliant they might be they for some reason cannot materialize in written words or brush strokes. So here are few lines to describe what is happening to me or rather what has happened.

I broke my wrist on Christmas eve trying out a present for one of my friend’s munchkins. Turns out the 40 something years olds really should not mount hoverboards. Had to have surgery and all. That was exciting. Now I have a metal plate in my wrist and cannot do push-ups. I am a cyborg. Three months of eating frozen pizzas and burritos later I finally can cook and run. Bread baking will resume shortly. But my wrist still does not feel like my own.

So now I run. It’s going OK in spite of the fact that half of the time I really don’t want to run but in the end, I do it anyway. Somehow that motivation is easier than motivation to write and paint. Go figure.  Last week I clocked 30 miles. Maybe I run out of boredom.

Work is boring at the moment and as far as motivation there goes well let us just say it does not. Maybe that is what contributes to my lazy attitude for the rest of my life. I like being busy. Thus go frequent trips outside to smoke.  Quitting smoking is always left to perpetual tomorrow.

I am reading short stories by Nabakov and constantly amazed at his control of the language. The stories are brilliant and contain anything from social and mystical realism to missed chances. One of the phrases I plan to use this summer extensively is “solar inebriation.” I suffer from it badly each Summer. Reading Nabokov for me is like drinking fine wine.

Speaking of wine. I am a proud member of Willamette Valley vineyard — the finest makers of Pinot Noir in Oregon and maybe even nationally. So, once in two months, I do drink fine wine. The rest of the days it is $6.99 bottles from Trader Joes.

My ex-stray dog and I have finally bonded and he trusts me and I trust him. It took a long time to develop the trust and I am immensely happy we finally achieved it. However, being the bonded pair means that I miss him every time we are apart (i.e. at work). He, on the other hand, for all I know might be inviting other dogs to our house when I am not there to drink margaritas. Why margaritas I don’t know.

That, in a nutshell, concludes the review of my past and present happenings. The only other thing that happened is meeting a few weirdos while walking the beast. I always do. I think there is some kind of energy that exudes out of me that is like a magnet. They were nice weirdos though who for the most part just wanted to pet the beastie and continue walking with us telling me their life stories. Someday I have to collect these stories in some form.


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