ship wrecked

With a cracked bottom (ship bottom) and a pack of wilted American Spirits aspirating from treading water, I have bowed out gracefully and postponed, cancelled (semantics simply) my excursion to California. It did not help that I was receiving a fentanyl patch this weekend that has left me with a fever, delusions of grandeur and a stomach ache the size of Rochester, Minnesota. At first I thought it was bad fish, but I ate none and then I thought to much port, but my palette was too dry.

I sit and watch my ship sink for now, until I feel the venture out West , hopefully, counted in days and not months and weeks. I chart a course for rest in a hospice bed instead of wine in Sonoma Valley and wait as this feeling too, disappointment, should pass as the medicine leaves my system and the virus accompanying it finds a different host. I will not sit idle long but today and into tomorrow it is the right thing.

A short day trip to Dallas by Wednesday could be an attainable and lofty goal for this seasoned captain.