Gone fishing. Or fishin’. I’m never sure. The point is, I’m going.

Not fishing. I don’t fish. I’m down with lazily floating on a lake in the sunshine, assuming the sun ever arrives for more than a fifteen-minute window on the West Coast this year, but catching and killing something is far outside my comfort zone.

Fish comes from Captain Highliner. Period.

At any rate, I’ve decided to give up with “desperately attempting to remain productive and normal” and go with “I’m depressed and I need to respect that and just knock it down a notch for a bit”.

This is in addition to working out how I’m going to work out the rage.

I’ve decided to take a couple of weeks off. No writing, which I’ve come to hate. No online courses either, because ditto. It’s going to be days of baths, saunas, bad television, and books I’ve read before. Or sitting in my chair thinking. Who knows? The plan is to try and treat myself kindly when all I want to do is rain pain on my head.

I’m going to scale back on social media. I’m going to spend more time with my hands in the dirt. I’m going to talk to God and the spirits. The plan is to try and figure some things out.

Blessings and warm wishes until I return.