A wise man once said, roughly three hours ago, that I should stop shouting at passersby and find some other outlet for my wrath. So here we are, anonymous, with no possible negative consequences to anything we say, on the internet. Or here I am; you are somewhere else. I hope, for sure, since I don't see you anywhere in the room and I don't abide ghosts.
Today has been, and has every promise of continuing to be, one of those days where my eyes will only half-focus on the present, and the future appears dim as if filtered through a cataract, but the past is in sharp relief.
Regarding the past, yesterday dawned a rainy, unprepossessing day, but if the National Weather Service was to be believed, the springtime misery was supposed to abate at roughly noon and the remainder of the day was forecast to be tolerable, even beautiful. In the morning, I did laundry, and washed dishes, and all the other domestic tasks you could do without but are essential to modern life. And in a surprise of the greatest improbability, the NWS nailed it! Of course it was bound to happen; even a blind squirrel stumbles upon the occasional acorn and even the most hapless of poker players will draw a royal flush once in 649,739, on average.
So the sky cleared and the Eye of Apollo gleamed down on the earth, bathing it in nuclear-fusion-powered space radiation. And I, being an idiot, decided to risk radiation burns and go fishing. So I provisioned myself with fly rod, reel, popping bugs, bottle of water, blaze-orange shirt, pocket knife, and other fishing accoutrement, all in my fuchsia backpack from the thrift store, and embarked.
I walked down to Yowell Meadow Park via the Spring Street entrance. The water in the creek was high and turbid as a result of recent rains and snow, which didn't bode well for my chances. Didn't help either that every bit of flotsam from upstream had made its way to the park, including countless bottles, innumerable cans, and exactly one pacifier. I rigged up with a chartreuse and pink popping bug and made a few casts, but no love. Made my way to Dead Carp Ditch, and fished for about 30 minutes, fishing with the sun to my back because a fellow angler was on the other side. I had one strike, which I missed. At this point, it was about quarter past four.
It occurred to me to pick up my prescription, and I was certain that the pharmacy closed at either 6 or 7, and was about a 40 minute walk away, so I continued to half-heartedly fish the creek, but couldn't get a good drift to save my life. I fished until quarter 'til, when it occurred to me to check whether they closed at 6 or 7. Turns out neither was right; they close at 5 on Saturday.
Nothing like sudden unexpected adversity to motivate you to pack that shit in and do something different. I might have cursed. No matter, the pharmacy will be open tomorrow (today, as I write this). I struck off for adventure on the north end of town, where I bought lock washers, onions, and some clearance fishing tackle. Having contributed to the national GDP, I walked home, and tired out, fell asleep, anticipating a good night's slumber.
Then I woke up at 4 AM. Fuuuuuuuuuck.
