Murky evening, and me, murky in it. A channel surfing, ice-cream eating murk person. I talked in a meeting today about my worry luggage--about wanting to let the universe carry it. When I went to Orcas earlier this month, I packed a shoulder bag with four hard-back books, running shoes, clothes, and food for three days. I lurched onto the Anacortes ferry so tilted one of the ferry people said, "Good God, you packed the wrong bag. Didn't you have something with wheels?" I have spent the last two weeks shouldering fears about finances and finding work in much the same fashion. My favorite line in The Summer of 42 was, "Herme was a worrier and a sufferer, and it was beautiful." But, it's not.
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