sucking sand

One of the things I realized this evening as I awoke still ship wrecked and sucking sand, not intentionally, but it happened spontaneously, because I was positioned on my stomach with my head down, breathing through the mouth can be quite unsanitary and the after affects, linger. Move slow captain as the ship is still wrecked, splintered wood too many to capture, the crew missing and the natives, seen from a mere distance of thirty-two paces, restless and hungry.

I surely thought by now that my virus would have passed but now question whether the virus has not diverted elsewhere because it is being called a virus instead of a bacterial infection. One goes away and the other needs a little pharmaceutical shove off. Like a castaway I await the arrival of the morning sun and a time to make a beeline straight toward the city of Dallas, not to tell my latest saga, but simply to people watch and blow off some pent up energy which, to my ego, is a sign that improvement is taking place, slowly, but improvement welcomed.

Another couple swigs of mouthwash and a powerful waterpick and I will feel capable of moving forward toward a cold shower, an artistic endeavor and plenty of idle chat over the tele to determine a destination of travel outside of the norm of my safe places to visit.