We're kind of like ships passing in the night, occasionally we overlap when we dock into port. I am back on the bartenders schedule, home at 4am in a cloud of smoke. This is my reward for being kickingass, weeks of late nights where, so they say, the money is to be made. During the daytime I sleep and layabout feeling useless and unsure about how to proceed with my own self. Run and nap. That is what I do.
Clark, whose ship sails bright and early spends his evenings playing with liquid rubber and lost wax, to figure how to cast molds into which might we pour molten metal. Maybe you remember the Ken head aspirations from last year to start a foundry?
In the meantime, I am done with my marathon training. Now I taper down to the start line. Clark rode along on my big 24, pedaling his bike telling funny stories for the last push home. This last Sunday was Race For The Cure (results not yet posted) and then yesterdays 15 miles concludes the bulk of training. Light running and rest. The mind reels.
Otherwise I am waiting for word on my internship. I feel sick just thinking about it, about having to survive the scrutiny of another QE, my entire year hangs in the balance and every day the phone doesn't ring. MY GOD THE SUSPENSE! HAVEN'T I SUFFERED ENOUGH??*
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