Breathing Room

So the semester I was complaining about has ended.  Time for some different work to begin.

Writing, for sure.  Here and on some essays I've been fooling with for a while, taking up the question of why someone in their 40s takes up and becomes addicted to waterfowling.   Especially when he has a very unlikely profile for participation in that sport. 

Fishing is a priority as well, though when I'll get out I don't know.  I'd planned two or three days this week, but I think I'll have more favorable weather later, and a week to map out summer plans will be a good idea.  Hopefully by the end of the weekend I'll have my community garden plot tilled and fenced, with a few plants started in it as well.  Hell, maybe I'll take a chance with planting tomatoes--if they do freeze, I'll have plenty of time to restart them. 

It's  a time to look ahead, I guess.  Yet already I can see plenty of possible distractions for the week, things to mire me in idle moments.  Often what lulls me into inaction is a sense of futility, a belief my endeavors are likely to stall or go  awry for some reason.  This can even affect fishing.  I guess I need to replace that mentality with faith that this summer will not get away from me.  For me, all my spiritual ramblings on here and my attestations that every cast is an act of faith notwithstanding, belief has always come with great difficulty.  I don't mean to overcomplicate what should be the compiling of a very simple to-do list.   Complications come on their own, though. I think I've groomed myself into a magnet for them.   There are those people of course who complete an impressive life's work under the strain of terminal illness (Christoper Hitchens supposedly wrote a book review hours before he died of cancer last year).  Maybe I can take some inspiration from them.