This morning a woman I met yesterday is sleeping in Scout's room. She is a sailor.
Last night, I was up late with my Vietnam vet handyman who goes only by "Kramer," having a sailboat's table, torn apart in a storm Wednesday night, repaired in my kitchen.
This morning my to-do list includes shopping at Costco (an adventure in itself), creating an e-mail and voice mail messages warning clients that if they have an emergency they need to hire another writer and buying some extra strength OFF!—I think it should be called FUCK OFF!—to deal with the biting flies that, I understand, will chase all 400 sailboats the length of Lake Michigan in the Race to Mackinac, from tomorrow through Tuesday, from Chicago to Mackinac Island.
I'm crewing on one of the boats, the Sail la Vie, for a story for Lake Magazine.
The bus won't bring me back until Wednesday, so you won't hear from me until late next week. I wonder what state I'll be in by then.
That mystery is worth this anxiety.