Piggott Arkansas

These are the times that try men's souls...

The process of becoming is often consuming. I lived in Maryland so consumed last year. I loved those long, welcome summer days. I burst out of the vberth with energy of motion out of the potential.
A boat needs constant tending, money, sweat equity, parts but mostly it needs me. I do my best and in the late day I sputter, sit to catch my breath and the sunset with us both fading quickly into rest and sleep. I rise the next black morning to catch first light and with a mental list take to huge mugs of coffee and the impertinent whirling feel of need to get things done...
I've not felt that way since arriving after Irma. I did strip sails from her, sell gear unneeded, tidy and clean, but I haven't done much else. I achieved my insurance adjuster license, worked fitfully at two nursing jobs, and chased my tail in a hundred ways letting Summer fade into winter.
Spring deepens. Thunderstorms arrive. Hot days are coming. The sun is rising almost beyond the Shands bridge. The days are longer...
I'm not using the days well. It's not that I want to sail and motor 60 miles along the ICW daily. But I miss having purpose and the pull of some desired goal. I keep hoping something will catch my eye and I'll find direction and the energy again.
Maybe not.
I feel I'm at that point where the marriage made has lost the lusty edge. I am content to be vaguely happy and rarely challenged; not ready to give up dreams but unsure how to proceed with this daily uncertainty.
I've grown old and fat and find my laurels few and offer little place to rest. And there, at last, is the reason for all this...